


Until I Have Nothing Left

by mizmahlia



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Family Fluff, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I promise I don't hate Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Medical Conditions, Or at least he tries to be, They all need a hug, at least at times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-06-09 21:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizmahlia/pseuds/mizmahlia
Summary: As the Red Hood, Jason Todd deals with dangerous people on the regular, but lately, that's become more difficult than usual. Something is wrong, but he doesn't know what and he's afraid to find out. The only thing he does know is that he's up against an enemy he can't beat using his usual weapons: his own body. Can he do what it takes to survive?  And is he willing to ask for help?





	1. Under the weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He took a moment to assess his surroundings and felt the pain in his back throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He pushed the pain down and grinned darkly beneath his helmet, drawing both pistols from beneath his arms.
> 
> "Bring it on, fellas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite this piece, I really do love Jason Todd. I promise. But I got this idea after re-reading "Death of the Family" and some of the Rebirth arc. I wondered what would happen if one of the family had to deal with a serious medical crisis that wasn't caused by injuries during a fight or being exposed to fear toxin, and this is the result. 
> 
> The only warnings that apply relate to a medical diagnosis and the treatment that goes along with it. There’s nothing very graphic or violent in this piece, but anything that could be considered above a basic rating will be prefaced with a mention and a warning. 
> 
> Like this chapter, for example. There's mention of some blood and that damned crowbar at the end of this one, so be warned if that sort of thing gets to you.
> 
> Also? Jason swears.

For Jason Todd, Gotham City was a contradiction. Some nights it was exactly where he wanted to be. The darkness, the danger, the familiar scents and sounds. It all made him feel at home and in his element. Other nights it was the absolute last place he wanted to be, with the seemingly unending supply of bad memories, violent crime sprees and unwelcome family reunions. Tonight, however, fell somewhere in between the two. But considering he’d had some tough luck lately, he’d take it.

There were two or three active cases on his radar, but tonight his focus was on just one. Two Face and his merry band of idiots were planning something big, and it involved a hefty shipment of weapons and explosives. He’d conducted surveillance for weeks, sorting through large batches of intel and weeding out the false leads. Based on the cargo manifest his paid informant at the shipping company gave him a few nights ago, the weight of the containers was a red flag. Two Face was definitely not importing luxury cars and crates of caviar. Containers that heavy usually carried more interesting cargo. Cargo he was determined to stop from ever leaving Port Adams.

He was making his usual rounds on patrol when he spotted a figure perched on a rooftop across from one of Penguin’s nightclubs. Tim was right where Jason figured he would be after their encounter the weekend before- a heist at the Gotham Historical Society. With Dent's shipment not arriving into port for another few days and nothing else needing his immediate attention, he decided to stop and see what Red Robin was up to.

Jason backed up several steps and sprinted to the edge of the roof, leaping effortlessly over the expanse between. When his boots hit the rooftop on the other side pain erupted in his legs, sending him wildly off balance.

"Fuck!"

He tucked and rolled, coming to rest in a crouch on the lower half of the roof, out of view from Tim.

His legs  _throbbed_.

He tugged his gloves off and loosened one of his boots, prodding along until he hit a sore spot. He massaged his calf and along his shin, using much less pressure than he could usually handle, until the pain dulled to a tolerable level. The sore spot was too high to be an ankle sprain. And he hadn't come down hard enough to fracture anything, either. His shins and ankles had been bothering him lately, but they hadn’t hurt like this yet and he made a mental note to look into it later.

He made his way to the fire escape, climbing up to where Tim was waiting, and he froze after he planted his foot on the roof as the throbbing started again. He grabbed the railing before he stumbled, closing his eyes against the pain.

_Suck it up. You’ve got an audience._

He waited a moment before opening his eyes and glancing over at Tim, who was working on his gauntlet computer, wondering if he’d seen him trying not to fall. Jason crouched and pretended to lace his boot, taking his time until he was sure he could walk without a limp. Carefully making his way over, he crouched next to Tim and studied the club across the street. Tim acknowledged him with a nod.

“Never thought you to be the clubbing type, Hood.”

“Yeah, well, I hear all the cool kids come here.” Jason flicked through several settings on his helmet and ran a thermal scan of the building. “Looks like there’s a decent crowd. What’s going on?”

“You know that jewelry heist last Saturday?”

“The one Robin told me not to break up  _‘or else’_?” Jason added air quotes, as if his usual brand of sarcasm wasn’t enough.

Tim smirked and shook his head, trying not to laugh. They had been standing in the alley behind the historical society last weekend discussing their plan when Damian poked Jason in the chest and called him an “egotistical and reckless miscreant” for suggesting what turned out to be a very good idea. Jason wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He simply picked Damian up and hung him by his hood on some nearby scaffolding, all the while talking through the plan with Tim. Damian was too surprised to manage a comeback and simply hung there until Jason left to cover the front of the building.

“One in the same. We needed to know who the merchandise was going to. I had my suspicions, but Batm…”

“I take it the buyers are inside?” Jason shifted his focus back to his scan of the club and its occupants.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s crash this party.”

“Once the sellers arrive, we can.”

Tim took off for the roof of the club and Jason raised his grapple to follow but paused when his comm beeped in his ear. He studied the screen in his helmet, the number of his informant’s burner phone flashing. He answered the call with a grin.

“Tony! What do you have?”

“Cargo ship coming into pier eleven.”

“When?”

“Due in thirty.”

Jason sighed and dropped his head back, closing his eyes.

 _Shit_.

“You said Thursday. Last time I looked at my calendar, it wasn’t Thursday.”

“Didn't know you'd changed your name to Captain Obvious." Tony laughed at his own joke. "Gee, it must be something illegal if they falsified the manifest and time tables.”

Jason ignored him and looked over at Tim across the street, where he was waiting patiently and studying building schematics. Jason turned his back to Tim and faced the dockyards across the island. He’d really have to push it to get there before the cargo ship did, but if he left now, he just might be able to make it.

“Well, I appreciate the heads-up. Even if I barely have time to get there.”

“I'm sure you’ll make it work.”

Jason ended the call and turned back to Tim. Tim would be fine on his own, but if he stuck around to help Tim, that would free him up to tag along. Having backup would be nice since Dent was always paranoid and hired more men than he needed. But there was always the risk that Bruce and the brat would show up if he stuck around to help Tim, and he didn’t have the time or energy for that drama tonight. He sighed and reached to reactivate his link to Tim.

"Red Robin?"

“Are you coming?”

“Can’t. I’ve gotta go. Something’s come up that I’ve been watching for weeks.” He watched as Tim’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly and he felt the annoying sensation of guilt creeping into his head. “Nothing personal, just, you know. Bigger fish and all that.”

“Yeah, sure. Leave me here with these losers.” The humor in Tim’s voice almost hid the disappointment.

Almost.

Jason cocked his head.

“Where are the other two?”

“Who knows? But I imagine Robin is dragging Batman all over Gotham trying to pick a fight.”

“Kid didn’t get his nap in today?”

Tim snorted.

“That would imply that demons sleep.”

Jason hummed in reply as he studied the rooftops nearby, looking for someone watching from the darkness. He knew someone had been tailing him the last few nights and he had a pretty good idea who. And if his hunch was right, Tim wasn’t on his own.

“When you finish here, you can tag along with me. If you want.”

Jason watched as Tim popped the cover off an air vent and removed the pin on a smoke canister. He looked up at Jason as he dropped it into the vent.

“Seriously?”

“Did I not  _sound_  serious?”

Tim was already lowering himself into the vent but stopped and looked up at Jason once more. He swore he could see the annoyed look on Tim’s face from across the street. It was impressive.

“With you I never know. But I’ll see if I can get there. Send me your coordinates.” He slid a respirator over his face and dropped out of sight. Jason took that as his cue to leave.

It didn’t take him as long to get to Port Adams as he'd anticipated, and he found a decent vantage point nearby on a rooftop. He could see the entire yard, including the ship moored to the pier. There was a single truck parked at the loading dock three hundred yards away. He did another scan of the yard to get a headcount.

_Fifteen on one. Sounds like a good time._

He sent Tim his coordinates and a warning about the mess he was about to start before he drew the pistols holstered at his thighs, chambering a round in each. He did the same with the two beneath his arms before returning them to their holsters. Last he drew a higher caliber rifle from the holster at his lower back and screwed a suppressor onto the barrel.

_Here goes nothing._

He disabled the truck with a shot to the engine block and all hell broke loose. When Dent's men started shooting, Jason dropped into the darkness below. He came up behind one of the perimeter guards, watching as he carelessly fired over the heads of his own men. Jason sighed and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, his face met the butt of Jason’s rifle and he crumbled into a heap. Jason crouched and grabbed the gun, releasing the magazine and tossing it into the empty lot behind them.

“That’ll teach you,” he muttered. He studied the aerial map of the ship yard in his helmet display to plot a course through the mess. He quickly moved around the perimeter, staying in the shadows and out of the sight line of anyone with a gun. Rounds continued to slam into the side panels of the transport truck and shatter windows of nearby buildings. The spray of bullets only slowed when someone stopped to reload. Jason sighed and shook his head.

_You sure know how to pick ‘em, Harvey._

The loud squawk of a radio stopped him in his tracks and he easily tuned into their radio frequency. He almost laughed as they speculated on his whereabouts; they had no idea where he was, and whoever was in charge had them still scanning the rooftops.

He crept into a small enclosure adjacent to the pier and grinned when he saw the shipment sitting unattended. With the shouting and gunfire showing no signs of stopping anytime soon, he removed a small package from his jacket and knelt next to the first crate. The weeks he’d spent on this case had paid off; the crates were loaded with grenades, shotguns, automatic rifles and various explosives. He worked quickly, putting a small but powerful explosive charge in each one and setting the timers for thirty seconds. As he set the last charge and started the timer, he felt a presence behind him.

"Turn around."

The voice was deep and sounded very unimpressed. Jason sighed.

“Something tells me you aren’t here to help with this.”

He heard the telltale click of a hammer being drawn back and he stood, raising his hands and slowly turning around. The man in the doorway was enormous. Not quite in Bane’s ballpark, but at least four inches taller than Jason and about fifty pounds heavier, from the looks of it. He was pointing a Desert Eagle with a laser sight at Jason's forehead. A round of that caliber would go straight through his helmet.

"Nice laser sight. Afraid you’ll miss?"

He threw Jason an irritated glare.

"Shut up. Two-Face would like a word."

The timer flashed across the inside of his helmet and he had twenty seconds before the explosives detonated. Panic stirred in his chest and his heart pounded wildly at the thought of once again being trapped in a room with an explosive device.

“Not really in the mood to chat with him, to be honest. I’ve got dinner plans.”

The man made the mistake of rolling his eyes and Jason used that to retrieve a smoke grenade from his hip, pulling the pin with his thumb. With his other hand he reached up and turned on a filter in his helmet to see through the smoke he was about to throw.

Fifteen seconds.

_Get a move on it, Jason._

“Let’s go.  **Now**.”

“Not gonna happen, Sasquatch.”

Jason tossed the grenade at him and darted toward the window, drawing a gun and firing through the glass. The glass exploded and he dove through the frame as the timer ticked down to zero. The blast wave threw him away from the building, and he barely managed to tuck his head and roll before he hit the ground. He came to a stop in the middle of the yard, totally exposed. He was on his knees, bracing himself with one arm as he put his gun away. He coughed weakly.

"Ow."

Just to his right Sasquatch was face down and partially covered in debris. He was unconscious, but alive.

"You son of a bitch!"

Jason had no time to turn his head toward the voice before its owner broke a two-by-four across his upper back. While it hurt like hell, it wouldn’t cause any serious injury thanks to his body armor. Jason looked up at him to see the man's expression morph from anger to panic.

"Bad move, asshole."

Before he had the chance to kick Jason in the ribs, Jason grabbed his foot and wrenched it sideways. He fell to the ground next to Jason and clutched at his ankle. Jason swung his elbow and it hit the man's jaw with a loud crack.

As soon as Jason was on his feet, three more of them pounced and he barely avoided being stabbed in the shoulder with a piece of rebar. He clenched his teeth as the sharp end pierced the sleeve of his jacket, laying open a gash along his bicep. Jason grabbed the rod with both hands and yanked it towards him. The man holding onto it stumbled and Jason jerked his knee upward, hitting him in the face. He landed on his back in the mud, unconscious and blood pouring from a broken nose.

Jason stepped back to catch his breath, and someone approached him from behind. Whoever it was wrapped an arm around his neck and tried to wrench one of his arms behind him. Jason leaned into him to try and throw him off-balance. But before he could drop all his weight forward for a throw, the third one drove his fist into Jason's stomach. A second punch immediately followed and hit just as hard. His body armor absorbed some of the impact, but it still nearly knocked the wind out of him.

Jason snarled and lashed out with a solid kick. His boot hit the knee of the one who punched him, and he dropped to the ground. Jason then took hold of the arm around his neck and stepped to the side, throwing the guy over his shoulder. Jason kept hold of his arm and twisted violently, hearing and feeling the arm break in his hands. The last one standing lunged at him with a splintered piece of wood. Jason dodged the makeshift weapon and drew one of his pistols, aiming for the man's chest. The rubber bullet knocked him backwards and he landed on his side, clutching his chest. Jason shot him once more in the lower leg, making it difficult for him to walk.

He re-holstered the gun and sucked in a lungful of air. He was having a difficult time catching his breath. Thankfully, to the untrained eyes of the men he was fighting, it looked like he was just incredibly pissed off and nothing more. Granted, he  _was_  pissed off because that prick ruined his second favorite jacket. But he was in much better shape than this, so he shouldn’t feel so tired. Not yet.

He rolled his shoulders up and back, stretching his head from side to side, wincing at how sore he felt already. He bit his lip when Bruce’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him of something he taught Jason a long time ago.

_Take that pain and use it against them._

He turned and saw three more men appear from around the shipyard. One hung back, arms crossed over his broad chest, apparently in charge as he barked an order for the other two to attack. They both had automatic weapons in their hands. He took a moment to assess his surroundings and felt the pain in his back throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He pushed the pain down and grinned darkly beneath his helmet, drawing both pistols from beneath his arms.

"Bring it on, fellas."

* * *

 

A short while later Jason dragged the barely-conscious lieutenant back out into the yard, having finished his interrogation. The guy had several broken fingers and ribs, but in the end, he'd given Jason what he needed. He dropped him into a frigid mud puddle and exhaled loudly. He was still struggling to catch his breath and once he knew he could talk without sounding winded, he activated his comm and contacted Tim.

"Guess you'll just have to be faster next time, Red."

He looked around as he waited for Tim’s reply and thankfully didn't see anyone else conscious. He turned back to the lieutenant and retrieved a pair of flex cuffs from his belt, kneeling next to him. He grinned when Tim replied with slightly breathless sarcasm.

" _Yeah, well, you had a head start and I was swarmed with Penguin's idiots._ " Tim paused and Jason knew he was mid-swing, firing his grapple again. " _Thanks for the help, by the way._ "

Jason secured the guy's hands behind his back, not caring in the slightest when he jarred broken fingers.

"I’m sure you handled it just fine. You didn't need my help."

The next reply came from behind him and not through his ear piece.

"Need? No. Would have appreciated? Yeah."

Tim landed almost silently with his staff drawn. Jason shrugged and rested a boot on the back of the lieutenant. He ground his heel down and rolled his eyes when the guy squirmed.

"Couldn’t risk any of these morons getting away."

Tim looked around and surveyed the damage throughout the shipyard. From what he could see most of the men on the ground were still breathing.

"Get anything you can use?"

Jason looked down at his hands and noticed both the glove on his right hand and the cuff of his jacket were saturated with blood.  He could feel it tricking down his forearm and ignored it, seeing the way Tim was watching him.

"Nope. Not a thing.”

The lieutenant mumbled something about broken ribs and fingers. Tim looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. His face was covered in bruises and one of his eyes had started to swell shut. He likely held out for quite some time, by the looks of his injuries.

"Seems to me like this one might have been helpful."

Jason nudged him with his boot and rolled him over. He knelt and grabbed the front of the man's jacket. Before he or Tim knew what was happening, Jason snapped his head forward and knocked him unconscious with a vicious head butt. Tim winced at the sound of cartilage breaking. Jason let go him and stood, swiping the blood off the front of his helmet with the back of his hand.

"Not particularly, but he told me enough." Jason dusted his hands together and turned to Tim. Tim was staring at him, leaning on his staff. “What?”

Tim didn’t bother to hide his frustration.

"You know we don't keep score. You can run point, it’s your case. I promise I’ll follow your lead. But you don’t have to do this alone." Tim collapsed the staff and drew his grapple gun. "Come on. You’re the one who said I could tag along, remember?”

Jason sighed.

“That was when I thought the shipment I’d been tracking was bigger. Turns out that this was all there was to it.”

Tim simply stared at Jason, acutely aware he was lying through his teeth. He knew Tim was a genius, but how easily he could read people was ridiculous. And it was starting to get  _really_  irritating.

He knew Tim just wanted to help. Despite the fact he knew he’d be done with the whole operation in half the time, he didn’t want the rest of them getting involved. He was wary of their newfound interest in helping him, though Tim had started to grow on him a few months back. He inhaled and held his breath for a few seconds before releasing it slowly, still trying to control his breathing. Moments like this he was insanely grateful for the helmet.

"I can handle it from here. Besides," he said, leaning around Tim and flipping his middle finger, "your ride is here."

Tim turned and searched the rooftops behind him, spotting Batman standing atop the adjacent warehouse, cape rippling in the wind. He sighed and turned back to Jason to find he’d disappeared. Tim shook his head and headed toward where Bruce stood, grappling up easily onto the building. He didn't look at Tim, instead focusing his attention on the direction Jason went.

"What was that about?"

"You weren't listening?"

He gave Tim a look and Tim knew there was a raised eyebrow beneath the cowl.

"Sorry. Long night.” He rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder. “He spotted me about to deal with that Penguin thing. Then he got a call and took off.”

"Robin and I were nearby at Gotham First National. If you needed help, you should have called me."

Tim shook his head.

"I was fine. He stopped to help me.” He paused, not sure how to ask what Bruce was thinking. Deciding the worst that could happen was Bruce ignoring him, he went for it. "Is he... are you worried about him?"

There was a heavy pause as Bruce considered his answer. He had his suspicions, but he couldn't confirm anything yet. Even with whatever was slowing him down, Jason was still in top form when it came to covering his tracks. It was admirable and infuriating at the same time, how well he’d taken to that part of his training years ago.

"Something’s wrong."

Tim looked at Bruce then down at the shipyard and all the men lying there. Most of them were still alive and the few who weren't, Tim knew were victims of friendly fire. Two-Face's men tended to use the 'spray and pray' approach to guns.

"What makes you say that?" When Bruce didn't answer immediately Tim answered for him. "You've been watching him."

Bruce turned his attention from the shipyard to Tim.

"Three of them were able to land multiple blows, which is rare, especially for men like these. They're very poorly trained."

Tim thought back to their encounter earlier, how Jason stumbled after his landing on the rooftop, and how he’d taken much longer than necessary to join him. Tim brushed it off at the time but now that he thought about it, something was off. Bruce recognized the look on Tim’s face and waited.

"Something on your mind?"

“Earlier, over at Penguin’s. I noticed something. He stumbled after landing on the roof.”

“What happened?”

Tim shrugged, staring out in the direction Jason disappeared.

“It could be nothing. I don’t know where he’d been or if he'd been hurt lately. We've all been there, B.”

Bruce nodded once in agreement, noting his own bruises and stiff joints.

"Anything else?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. He seemed fine when I got here, but I haven't been here long, and the fight was over. Why?"

Bruce drew his grapple gun and aimed at a dilapidated office building across the street.

"It's probably nothing. I need to get back to Robin at the bank."

Tim sighed in frustration once more as Bruce disappeared.

"Would it kill any of you to just  **talk** to me?"

* * *

 

A half-mile from the shipyard Jason dropped into the shadows of an alley and leaned against a brick wall, hands on his knees and still trying to catch his breath. The pain in his legs was back and was intense enough to make it difficult to walk. He forced himself to straighten up and laced his hands behind his head, breathing slowly and deeply.

He'd barely wrapped up the fight and interrogation before Tim arrived, and he'd had to try really hard not to let on how awful he was feeling. On several occasions, he was only saved by his wickedly good aim with a handgun. With his legs bothering him and his decreased endurance, he may not have the ability to maintain prolonged physical combat at the moment. But as long as his hand was steady, his guns worked just fine, despite being loaded with rubber bullets.

Once his breathing was mostly under control, he focused on the rest of his problems. He could feel each and every sore spot. He was sure his back would be one giant bruise come morning, thanks to the two-by-four. Jumping through a window hadn’t helped, either. And then there was the blood from the cut on his arm he could feel trickling down his sleeve. He sighed as he fired his grapple up into the darkness. He had to get home before he felt any worse, and thankfully his motorcycle was only a few blocks away.

As he drove toward the slightly less-seedy parts of Gotham, his mind wandered back to when this all started ten days earlier. It began as a mild ache in his left leg that he usually only noticed when he was out on patrol. It didn't bother him much and he assumed he'd over-trained or took a blow that he didn't remember. He took a couple of nights off and that seemed to do the trick. Over the last couple of days, though, it had gotten more painful and he could feel it in both legs. But even then, it was nothing that some ice and over-the-counter pain medication couldn't handle.

Until tonight.

That landing shouldn't have bothered him. It hadn't been a difficult jump and he could make jumps like that in his sleep. Even when he was a kid, before Batman, before Robin, he'd been leaping across rooftops without any problem, so why now?

He entered an underground parking garage and parked his bike before he began climbing the stairs to the safe house that had morphed into something more permanent than he cared to admit. He knew he'd have to move soon, especially with Batman following him around lately.

By the last flight of stairs, he was limping heavily and out of breath again. He broke into a cold sweat and had to lean against the door frame as he unlocked the door and disabled the security system. The couch wasn't far from the door and he collapsed onto it, wincing as he put his legs on the coffee table to unlace his boots. His feet and ankles were swollen, but there was no bruising or discoloration that would explain why his legs felt like they’d been run over by a truck. He ditched his gloves and shrugged out of his jacket, leaving them in a pile next to his boots. They could wait until morning to be cleaned. The one glove was ruined, anyway.

He stood and hobbled into the kitchen. A half-empty bottle of pain reliever sat next to an empty glass by the sink where he'd left them that afternoon. He turned on the tap, holding his fingers under the faucet, his mind wandering in its exhaustion and taking him back to memories he worked so hard to forget.

_"Hiya, kiddo. Welcome back! I’m gonna do a little experiment. I’ll use my right arm first, then my left. Tell me which one hurts more.”_

_The crow bar struck his back, knocking the breath from his lungs and breaking several ribs. The Joker howled with laughter, his shrill voice bouncing off the walls._

_"That sounded absolutely **dreadful**. Let’s test the other side.”_

_That time the crow bar made contact with his leg, shattering bone beneath it. Jason cried out, unable to hold back his scream any longer._

The water ran cold beneath his fingers and brought him back to reality. He filled the glass and downed it all in one go before refilling it. His hands trembled as they opened the bottle, shaking several tablets into his palm. He swallowed those with another glass of water before hobbling toward the bathroom.

He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light before digging his med kit from under the sink, laying out his supplies on the counter. The bleeding on his arm had stopped, but only because his shirt was stuck to the wound. The entire sleeve below it was saturated with blood. He wet a washcloth with warm water and held it over the cut until the clotted blood softened and he could take his shirt off without reopening the wound too much. Jason stared at his reflection for a moment before tugging the shirt up and over his head. It was tossed unceremoniously into the bathtub.

The poor lighting in the bathroom made the dark circles under his eyes even more prominent against his pale skin. There was a fist-sized bruise forming on his stomach where one of the morons landed two lucky punches. He turned and looked back over his shoulder. His back was beginning to bruise, and a massive red welt spanned both of his shoulders. His body armor should have prevented the bruising and on a normal night, it would have. Whatever was making him feel so off lately must be responsible for the easy bruising.

He washed the dried blood from his arm and turned, stepping closer to the mirror to get a better look at his arm. The rebar must have been incredibly sharp since there were no ragged edges and no torn skin. The laceration itself was only about two inches long- nothing serious enough to explain the amount of bleeding there had been. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but nowhere near as much as earlier.

With a tired sigh he finished cleaning his arm and closed it with several butterfly bandages. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. He laid a gauze pad over it, wrapped his arm with a self-adhesive bandage and put everything away.

The pain in his legs had dulled somewhat but was still bad enough it forced him to limp on his way to his bedroom. He thought about what he read the other day, when the pain was noticeable enough to warrant some research, about the pain people sometimes felt in limbs that had been fractured even long after they’d healed. That had to be what was happening, why his legs hurt lately.

Jason closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to get his mind to turn off so he could sleep. But a voice deep inside his head asked a frighteningly logical question.

_The Lazarus Pit brought you back from the dead- it healed all your old scars. Do you really think it wouldn’t have fixed that, too?_

Jason opened his eyes and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He knew he'd always carry the psychological scars: the nightmares, the memories, the anger he had to work so hard to control sometimes. He'd accepted all that a long time ago and he knew it wouldn't be easy. But it was getting better, at least until he had a flashback and then he felt like he was back at square one.

He drew the blankets up around him and laid down again, rolling over and curling into himself. The medication was helping, as the throbbing in his legs was now a dull ache that would allow him to sleep. But before he closed his eyes, he reached over and turned on the lamp next to his bed. The lamp cast a soft, warm glow over the bedside table, where a picture frame was propped against the lamp's base. The glow was bright enough to chase away the darkness and the anxiousness, but not bright enough to keep him awake. He felt himself start to relax as he stared at the picture. He used it to help calm the panic that crept up on him sometimes, something to ground him and remind him what was real and what was only in his head. It was a time he felt safe, a time he felt cared for.

In the picture a tall, broad-shouldered man stood next to a smiling kid in a school uniform, his arm around the kid’s shoulders. Jason came from his last day of school that day to see Alfred with a familiar package from the book store in Kensington. It was a first edition he and Bruce had tried to track down for  _months_ \- their gift to him for making the honor roll again.

Jason studied the picture and felt himself sink into the mattress, his eyelids growing heavy. The pain in his legs and back seemed like a distant memory, as did everything else. All that mattered at the moment was that he was home. He was safe. One last thought wandered through his mind as he fell asleep, something that Catherine used to tell him when he was sick.  
  
_Everything will be better in the morning._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it: the beginning of what I hope is a roller coaster ride of angst and emotion. I hope you like it! I've planned for 12 chapters, but I'm not going to limit myself to that if things develop differently.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @mizmahlia.


	2. A storm is coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s not what I meant. You know you can…”
> 
> Bruce stopped and pursed his lips, the words ‘come home’ dying on his tongue and they both knew it. Jason believed Bruce would choke on the words if he ever tried to say them out loud, that he only bothered trying to say them because he felt like he should. But Bruce couldn’t bring himself to say them because he didn’t want to drive Jason away for good by suggesting such a thing. Bruce was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and damn it if it didn't hate the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some swearing here, but that's about it. And Roy makes an appearance! Who doesn't love some Roy and Jason bonding?

Four days after the incident at Port Adams, Jason woke up to the mid-morning sun in his face.

He rolled over and groaned, tugging blankets up over his head to block out the light. Last night had been a night off and he spent it in bed. There were three extra blankets draped over him, six empty water glasses on his nightstand and a nearly-empty ibuprofen bottle on the floor next to a container of chicken lo mein he'd tried to eat when he took the medication. He was only able to manage three bites before he felt full.

The alarm went off on his phone and he shoved the blankets back, staring at the ceiling. If his alarm was going off it meant he'd spent just over twelve hours in bed. The last time he’d spent that much time in bed he’d been thirteen years old with a bad case of pneumonia. Alfred dosed his hot chocolate with a mild sedative because he’d kept trying to sneak down to the cave to work with him while Bruce was out on patrol. When he woke up later, it was to the smell of his favorite breakfast and a very apologetic Alfred.

Jason closed his eyes and smiled.

It was a good memory.

His alarm still going off, he sat up with a grunt and gingerly lifted his legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to let them hit the floor too hard. He turned off the alarm and noticed the condition his nightstand was in. The mess he'd made over the last few days was impressive, no doubt, but it bothered him. (And it was a good thing Alfred wasn't there to see the mess or the state he was in; he'd have a coronary at the sight.) He retrieved the sweats he was wearing the night before from the floor next to the bed and pulled them on, stacking the empty glasses inside each other and heading toward the kitchen.

Before he let himself make coffee, he washed all of his dirty dishes and left them in the rack to dry. The leftover lo mein went into the trash, and the ibuprofen bottle returned to its usual place beside the sink. Once he was satisfied, he put the coffee on and sat down at the small kitchen table with his laptop. The websites he'd visited a few nights ago were still open and he continued reading. The symptom checker he found spit out a list of things he could have based on the information he put in. According to that, with his fatigue, chills and headaches, he could have anything from mono to pneumonia to an inter-cranial hematoma.

He rolled his eyes at the hematoma diagnosis and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. As he sat down at the table again, he remembered the leg pain. The website listed several possible reasons for that, including blot clots and fractures, but the most likely culprit was a stress reaction from physical activity.

Sipping his coffee, he closed the laptop and headed toward the bathroom to shower. The more he thought about it, the reason behind all of his symptoms was likely stress; he’d been running himself ragged for weeks, and factoring in how hard he was working to avoid Bruce? It wouldn’t surprise him at all if he came down with something like mono. He’d pick up some vitamins, maybe take a night or two off to try and keep it from getting any worse.

And if he did have some kind of stress fracture, he could handle it. It didn’t hold a candle to the pain he remembered from first time he’d fractured his leg and if he needed to take some time off, he would manage.

For now, he wouldn’t worry about it, even if his instincts were telling him otherwise.

* * *

Roy was waiting at their usual booth at the diner when Jason walked in. At seeing him, Roy's face melted into a grin and he raised his arm in a wave. Jason felt himself smile widely in return, sliding into the bench across the table. Roy nodded at the waitress and she made her way over, giving them menus and blushing madly as she turned to leave.

"Thank you, Maggie."

She turned and looked at Roy, biting her lip and smiling. She somehow blushed even more at her name on his lips.

"You're welcome. I'll come back in a few."

Maggie walked away and Jason watched Roy for a moment, trying not to laugh at Roy's gaze following her across the diner. Jason rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

"You done, Harper?"

Roy grinned and picked up his menu.

"Hey- she batted her eyelashes at me, Jaybird. I'm only playing along."

Jason barely glanced at the menu before deciding on his usual burger and fries. He'd been ravenously hungry when he left his place half an hour ago, but since he got here the smell of food was making him feel nauseous. He sipped his water and watched Roy peruse the menu. He had a bit of a tan, some mischief in his eye and a fullness to his cheeks that spoke volumes about the break they'd taken from their Outlaw gig since their last job a few months back.

"Our little sabbatical looks good on you, Roy. Nice tan."

Roy took one look at Jason's shit-eating grin and laughed, leaning into the corner of the booth and throwing an arm over the back. He shrugged one shoulder.

"Kori seems to dig it. She says it brings out the blue in my eyes. And she likes my freckles."

Jason tossed his head back and laughed.

"Yeah, because freckles scream 'I'm a badass'."

Before Roy could defend himself, Maggie returned to take their orders and refill their water glasses. In addition to his food, Jason ordered coffee. He never used to drink it but lately it was good for a boost in energy since he wasn't eating much. A moment later she set a steaming mug down in front of him.

"Do you take cream or sugar?"

"No, black is fine. Thanks, Maggie."

She blushed and nodded, her eyes shyly meeting his.

"You're welcome."

She disappeared and Jason took a sip, savoring the warmth. He could feel Roy watching him and he ignored it, instead watching the rain fall outside the diner window. Roy let him have a moment before he started asking questions.

"How long have we known each other?"

Jason frowned and looked at him- it wasn't the question he was anticipating. He wrapped his hands around the mug and shrugged.

"A few years, why?"

His posture hadn't changed, and he was still leaning casually against the back of the booth, but Jason could feel the shift in his demeanor.

"After all that time and the shit we've been through, you still think you need to hide stuff from me?"

Jason opened his mouth to reply but Maggie arrived with their food before he could. She set their plates down and smiled at both of them before leaving again. Roy shifted, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. The expression on his face was sympathetic and lacked any judgement whatsoever. They'd both seen each other at some of the lowest points in their lives and had been there to make sure the other didn't lose themselves.

It was a blessing and a curse to have someone who'd seen you at your worst and still cared about you anyway.

"Whatever it is, I can help, you know. God knows you've helped me through enough of my issues and bad decisions. Let me help you for a change."

Jason stared at his burger and fries, wondering how in the hell so many people wormed their way into his life and knew him so well. He had to re-evaluate his life choices, apparently.

"I'm fine. I think I caught the bug that's going around."

"Yeah, okay. And I'm Batman."

Roy rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle of ketchup, shaking it over his fried potatoes.

"You've dropped close to twenty pounds, by the looks of you, so you aren't eating. You aren't sleeping, since you ordered coffee with a damn bacon cheeseburger," he gestured to Jason's plate and the coffee, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "And you're trying not to let on that you're limping."

Jason narrowed his eyes, but there was no anger in it.

"Have I covered it all?" Roy asked pointedly before digging into his omelet. "Or is there more you're willing to share?"

Jason pulled his plate closer to him and took a bite of his burger. Despite not being hungry, it tasted pretty good. He took another bite just to make Roy wait for an answer.

"Honestly, I'm fine. I got into a scuffle the other night with some of Two-Face's guys, but it wasn't serious."

Roy put his fork down and waved at Maggie before pointing at Jason's coffee. She came and set a mug down in front of him. He waited until she was gone before he spoke again.

"Okay, that explains the limp. But not the weight loss or the lack of sleep."

Jason sighed and swiped a fry through the ketchup on his plate. As much as he wanted to believe it was mono or something similarly benign, he knew deep down it wasn't. Roy took another bite of his omelet, still watching him.

"Are you having nightmares again?"

Roy knew about his nightmares and the effects all the trauma had on him. On more than one occasion during their missions together he woke up in the middle of the night with Roy and Kori wrapped around him, only to be told he'd been screaming and thrashing around. Jason bit the inside of his cheek and glanced out the window for a moment before meeting Roy's concerned gaze.

"A few, but they aren't as bad as they used to be."

Roy nodded and stared at his plate.

"Do you want some company? I can tell the guy who hired me to find someone else, and I can come hang out with you. What do you say?"

Jason shook his head.

"Nah, that's fine. Like I said, they're not that bad anymore. I think I'm just coming down with something, you know? The Two-Face thing took weeks to come together and I wasn't sleeping much."

Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow but accepted Jason's answer.

"If you're sure."

"Roy, I'm fine. You need to go on that op. It might be the only chance you have to get your hands on that type of technology."

Roy held his hands up and sighed.

"Fine, I'll go, but only because you're making me. I'll bring you back a fancy new blaster."

Jason grinned and pushed his plate away. He saw Roy look at the amount of food that was left and frown. He pretended not to notice.

"You'd better, or there will be hell to pay."

Maggie brought the check and Jason deftly swiped it out of Roy's reach.

"This one's on me. You can get the next one."

"If you insist."

Roy followed Jason outside, relieved the rain had finally stopped.

"Take care of yourself, Jaybird. I expect to see you back to your old self when I come home, you hear me?"

"Okay,  **mom**."

Roy stepped forward and pulled Jason into a hug. When he pulled back and put his hands on Jason's shoulders, there was a serious look on his face that startled Jason with its intensity.

"Seriously, Jason. Please?"

Jason nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

Roy smiled and they both went their separate ways but not before Roy turned back to look at his friend. There was bruising visible above the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck. He frowned and pulled out his phone, bringing up a contact he hadn't messaged in a very long time.

Dick Grayson.

He typed quickly before he lost his nerve.

_Hey. I just had lunch with Jason and something's up. Didn't even touch his food. Keep an eye on him, would you? Sic Alfred on him._

He watched Jason turn the corner at the end of the block, his thumb hovering over the 'send' button. Something wasn't right, that much he knew. And if Jason wouldn't tell him that was fine, but he didn't feel too badly about enlisting the help of a family of detectives.

He hit send and slid the phone back in his pocket.

* * *

Toward the end of a blissfully quiet patrol Jason heard commotion in an alley while he made his way through Otisburg. He dropped onto the sidewalk just outside the alley in time to see a group of wanna-be gang members beating someone up. They hadn't heard him arrive and he used that to his advantage. He approached from behind, hands casually stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, leaning over the shoulder of one of them.

"Hey, guys. Can I join in?"

The guy flinched and backed away. He reached into his jacket but before he could grab whatever weapon he stashed there, Jason had hold of his arm and wrenched it behind him.

"C'mon. Gotta be faster than that."

Jason punched him in the gut and when he doubled over to try to breathe, Jason brought his knee up to his face. He crumpled into a heap, unconscious. The other four of them shifted their focus to Jason and not the man they were beating, giving him a chance to get away. He was cradling what appeared to be a broken jaw but otherwise appeared to be alright.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

His voice was strained, but grateful. Jason nodded.

"It's why I'm here. Go get that looked at."

The man turned and fled. The one who fancied himself the leader of these idiots spoke up, stepping forward.

"This was none of your business, Hood. This is our territory."

Jason snorted.

"Riiiight. Your territory. Who are you, again?"

"You son of a..."

He came at Jason, raising a rusty crowbar from his side. Jason easily side-stepped the attack and grabbed the crowbar, ripping it from his hand. Using his own momentum against him, Jason pushed him and hit his back with the crowbar, sending him flying into a dumpster. He hit the side with a loud clang and collapsed into a puddle.

"Why is it always a damn crowbar with people in this city?"

The remaining three members attacked him all at once. Their proximity meant he couldn't use his guns, but he still had the crowbar and used it to deflect their blows. They soon backed into a corner and he realized he was getting tired when they started to land punches and kicks they shouldn't have been able to. He shoved one of them back and he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"Bad move, guys. You don't ever wanna corner someone like me."

With one last burst of energy he jumped toward the one to his right, the crowbar coming down on his forearm. The guy dropped his knife and screamed in agony when his arm broke, his hand dangling at a very unnatural angle. Jason turned to face the other two, who had wisely retreated a few steps and were waiting to see what Jason would do next. Jason dropped the crowbar and smirked when they both flinched as it clattered to the pavement, the noise echoing down the alley. He stepped toward them and they both continued to back up. One of them pulled a knife from his jacket and the other one picked up a brick.

"We aren't afraid of you."

"You should be."

In an instant Jason drew a gun from the holster inside his jacket and fired two shots, the rubber bullets hitting them both in the abdomen. They dropped to the ground and curled into themselves, groaning loudly. Jason knelt between them, his voice low and clipped.

"You're lucky I wasn't in the mood to clean up a mess," he said. "Otherwise you'd have a bullet in your foreheads."

Using the butt of his gun he knocked them both unconscious and dragged them toward the chain link fence at the end of the alley. He secured their hands to the fence with flex cuffs before lugging the other two over to join their buddies. As he dropped them, he stumbled, the exhaustion taking over.

He'd come way too close to getting his ass kicked.

The one with the shattered arm was cowering behind the dumpster, cradling his arm against his chest. He was trembling with shock and Jason knew he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. The crowbar lay a few feet from him and he picked it up, tossing it into the dumpster.

"Assholes," he muttered.

As he turned to leave his comm beeped before he heard Oracle's voice in his ear.

_Great._

"Do you want me to call that in or are you going to?"

Jason shrugged and took off to where his bike was stashed two blocks over. He wasn't surprised she'd seen everything- only that it had taken her this long to hack into his feed. He'd been in Gotham for several months now.

"Be my guest, sweetheart. Saves me the trouble."

He could hear typing on her end; no doubt she'd already called it in. But knowing she'd been watching him, he tried a little harder to hide the fact he felt like death warmed over at the moment.  He chuckled at his unintended joke when she spoke again.

"You alright?"

He stopped walking and glanced up, looking for one of the security cameras. When he found one, he tilted his head sarcastically and shrugged.

"Why is everyone asking me that? I'm fine. Leave me alone."

He switched the channel on his comm and entered the alley to see his bike sitting where he'd left it a few hours ago. Just as he was about to get on and head home, he sensed a presence behind him, and his jaw clenched automatically. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation tonight, but he supposed after being back in the city as long as he had been, it was inevitable.

“I thought my shadow looked a little Bat-like lately.”

Batman said nothing, standing at the edge of the shadow cast by the streetlight at the end of the alley, watching him.

“Just say whatever is on your mind and go.” Jason turned and looked at him, waiting a beat. “Or stand there and be creepy. Whatever.”

He swung a leg over his bike and entered the security code that allowed him to start the engine, waiting a moment with his hand on the throttle. He knew it was coming. Bruce always waited for someone to ask him what he wanted, like a vampire who needed an invitation, and he would wait as long as it took until that happened. Jason refused to indulge him tonight. He was about to leave when Batman’s voice carried down the alley toward him.

“How long?”

The rest of his question was implied, and Jason usually refused to take the bait. He would pretend he didn’t know Bruce that well, that Bruce didn’t know him that well. If Bruce wanted answers from him, he needed to earn them. But at that point in his evening, Jason’s patience was gone, and he felt like hell. He closed his eyes.

_Might as well get it over with._

“How long what?”

More silence.

Jason could hear the quiet rumble of the engine on his bike. There was a rat rustling in a trash can down the alley. The sirens of a Gotham General ambulance wailed six blocks to the east. In his earpiece, he could hear the feed from the cave he hacked into a few weeks prior. But with all those sounds to hear, he heard absolutely nothing from Bruce.

As per usual.

He sighed in resignation. He didn’t disable the voice filter, but his tone still came across clearly- cold and sharp and pissed off. Jason refused to turn around when he spoke.

“I’m fine.”

“Not from what I saw earlier.”

Jason shook his head, sarcasm replacing the anger.

“Oh, well, thanks for the help.”

“I knew you had it covered.”

He shifted on the bike to look back over his shoulder.

“And you care why, exactly?”

He stared at the ground, watching Bruce from his periphery. There was a barely perceptible tell on Bruce’s part, a subtle tightening around his mouth. He ignored Jason’s barb, pretending it didn’t sting in the slightest. He didn’t want to argue anymore.

“You know you can always go see Dr. Thompkins.”

_Ah, avoiding the direct question. I see we’re following the usual textbook material tonight._

“I said I’m fine.”

He turned so he could actually look at Bruce. He’d come closer, stepping further into the yellowed circle of pavement illuminated by the street light. The angles of the cowl and the shadows it threw over his face made him look scarier than usual, the white lenses in stark contrast to the shadows.

“How is your back? That two-by-four do much damage through your body armor?”

_Oh, so now he wants to talk._

He felt the anger bubble up in his chest. Jason nearly bit through his tongue as he tried to push it back down.

“Why are you following me?”

“You’re not well.”

_Ouch._

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, but it still stung, especially coming from him. But it didn’t matter. He would just sweep it under the ginormous rug where he kept the rest of his issues with his family.

“Never stopped you from pushing me away before, so what’s changed?”

Jason watched as Bruce actually flinched a little at his response. He knew things weren’t that simple, that Bruce hadn’t necessarily just written him off or pushed him away, but it still felt good to say it. Things had been awful when he came back, but he hadn’t had a say in the matter and had no tools to cope with it, either. Not the emotional stuff, anyway. Not with this family. Talia had helped with everything else, the physical things like finances, resources. Information. Motivation.

He was shaken from his thoughts when Bruce spoke up.

“You aren’t exactly easy to get a hold of.”

“You’re the ‘world’s greatest detective'. If you want to find someone, you know how.”

They stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like static electricity before a thunderstorm. Jason climbed off the bike and faced Bruce, his fists balled at his sides and his shoulders tense. He broke the silence first.

"I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not saying you do. But if you’re sick, if you need help…”

“Call Dr. Thompkins, I got it.”

“That’s not what I meant. You know you can…”

Bruce stopped and pursed his lips, the words ‘come home’ dying on his tongue and they both knew it. Jason believed Bruce would choke on the words if he ever tried to say them out loud, that he only bothered trying to say them because he felt like he should. But Bruce couldn’t bring himself to say them because he didn’t want to drive Jason away for good by suggesting such a thing. Bruce was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and  _damn it_  if it didn't hate the feeling.

At Bruce’s silence, Jason’s shoulders went slack, and he closed his eyes. The Manor hadn’t been home for a long time. But he couldn’t deny there was some appeal in going back, despite the fact he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. When he spoke again his voice had lost its harsh edges and most of the animosity.

“You know, there’s a reason people say you can’t go home again.”

The sounds of the city filled the space between them while Jason thought about the Manor and what going home would mean. Keeping Alfred company while he made breakfast, the quiet sounds of the Gotham Symphonic Orchestra coming from the radio. The creaks and groans of the old house settling when they were all in bed after patrol. The warmth of the fireplace in the study where he'd get lost in a book for hours. The feeling like he belonged there, like he was part of that family. Even if that last one wasn't correct, he remembered how great it felt to pretend it was.

After a minute or two he looked up at the sky. He felt his eyes water.

He was  **exhausted**.

He was tired of feeling like hell for as long as he had been; the last few weeks had been awful. Jason closed his eyes and opened his helmet, cool night air caressing his sweaty face. He looked at the man he once called his father and for the first time in a very long time he didn’t bother trying to hide anything.

Bruce was so familiar with Jason’s features it didn’t matter he was wearing a domino beneath the helmet. From where he was standing, he could plainly see Jason’s face was pale and his cheekbones were sharp. Something was definitely wrong. His paternal instincts fought to override those of Batman, and he had to suppress the urge to be the concerned father because Jason pushed him away whenever he tried. No matter what he tried, Bruce couldn’t seem to win.

Jason suddenly felt like an insecure teenager in front of his father after being caught sneaking in after curfew. He cast his eyes downward.

“Even if I thought that was a good idea, it could never measure up to how I remember it. So, thanks, but no thanks.”

Bruce’s stoic expression faltered momentarily at the confession. Jason’s memories of his life at the Manor were positive ones, apparently. That was good. That meant there was something there to build on.

Jason scrubbed a hand down the side of his face before securing the helmet. His voice once again came through the modulator, but the clipped, vicious tone was gone, replaced with a strange mix of fondness and lighthearted sarcasm.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped following me, old man. That, or lend a hand once in a while.”

He turned back to his bike and lifted his leg over, gunning the throttle and disappearing around the corner.

Bruce grappled up onto the rooftop and glanced toward home. Jason, in his own way, had extended an olive branch, whether he intended to or not. At one point in the not so distant past, that conversation would have begun and ended with Jason telling him to fuck off.

He’d take what he could get.

* * *

Jason drove back to his place and his headache returned in full force on the way. The chills from earlier in the day had also returned. He fumbled with the locks on his door and stumbled in, leaning against the door once it was closed. With a sigh he slid down the door until he was seated on the floor. The helmet came off and he ran a hand through his hair.

“You look like hell, Jay.”

Jason looked up to see Dick standing in his kitchen doorway. His hair was perfectly un-perfect, his boots were immaculately polished, and his suit was blood spatter-free. Meanwhile, Jason was covered in mud and grime from his fight in the alley, his second-favorite jacket had a tear in the sleeve, and he felt like shit.

Jason wanted to deck him.

“Well hello to you too,  **Dick**.”

He scowled and chucked the helmet. Dick caught it and noticed the throw lacked its usual force. He put it on the coffee table and leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Long night?”

Jason peeled off the domino and glared at him.

“It is now.”

He began unlacing his boots, trying to hide the amount of effort it took. He wasn’t in the mood for this. The boots came off and he stood, bracing himself against the door, and he took his time putting his gear in the hall closet. He brushed past Dick on his way into the kitchen and flipped the light on above the stove. Dick frowned and turned, surprised Jason hadn’t told him to fuck off yet. He watched Jason grab a glass from a cupboard and turn to the sink.

“You and Bruce decide to tag team me tonight?”

Dick closed his eyes, bracing for a fight. It was usually what happened after Bruce and Jason interacted. But tonight, Jason was noticeably not yelling or throwing things, and his body language, though still tense and on edge, wasn’t screaming with righteous fury. He followed Jason into the kitchen to see him reaching for a bottle of ibuprofen. He raised an eyebrow at how empty the bottle sounded.

“You talked to Bruce tonight? Is Alfred going to have suture anything?”

Dick smiled faintly. The last time the two of them fought Bruce broke two knuckles after punching a brick wall. Jason drained the first glass, snorting softly when he finished. He shook his head and grimaced, reminded of his pounding headache.

“No. He’s been keeping his distance, though not as far as I’d like. Just close enough to be a pain in my ass.”

He refilled his glass and tapped four pills into his hand. From what Dick could see, it was a dose of about eight hundred milligrams- a therapeutic level in the short-term. But he watched carefully as Jason swallowed the pills and drained the glass again. He turned around and leaned a hip against the sink, mirroring Dick’s posture. He was still unable to shake the chill from earlier. He met Dick’s gaze and tilted his head expectantly.

“What are you doing here and am I going to have to fix a window?”

“Your windows are fine. Nice upgrade, by the way. It took me twenty minutes to get in this time.”

Dick pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. He took his gloves off, carefully flexing his hands and fingers. Jason noted the red, raw knuckles and a bruise across several fingers and felt sorry for the guy on the receiving end of that beating. He grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and tossed it to him. Dick smiled gratefully, his smile temporarily disarming Jason.

“I got a text from Roy today.”

Jason sighed and turned back toward the sink, the beginnings of his smile disappearing. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter and stared out the window. He bit the inside of his cheek, angry at himself for entertaining the thought Dick was here simply because he wanted to be.

“Is that so?”

Dick was careful with his tone, hoping to remain as neutral as possible. He assumed Roy had voiced his concerns to Jason already, but it was apparent Jason didn't know Roy had contacted him. Dick pursed his lips in irritation.

_Damn it, Roy._

“He’s worried. Said I should sic Alfred on you.”

Jason thought back to lunch with Roy that afternoon and how he barely touched his food. He usually devoured the enormous burger, side of fries and an obnoxiously large slice of pie. So what if he hadn't been hungry? Why did everyone suddenly care?

“Just a bug going around. Haven’t been hungry.”

Dick studied him; Jason outweighed him considerably and had for some time. He still thought Jason would catch up to Bruce; they were already almost identical in height. But as he looked at Jason in that moment, he realized the angles were all wrong. Something was off. The shirts he wore underneath his armor usually fit him close to the skin, but the one he was wearing tonight was loose across the chest and shoulders. His pants were low on his hips and he‘d made an extra notch on his belt. His cheekbones were more prominent than usual and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Dick didn’t bother trying to hide the fact he’d been studying Jason from the moment he’d walked in. But he knew he had to be careful with what he was about to say. He switched the ice pack to the other hand, giving Jason a moment to come around to the idea people actually worried about him.

When Jason turned back to him, leaning on the counter once more, he was a little less defensive. With his guard down Dick saw his chance to find out what was going on.

“Now that I see you, I understand why Roy is concerned. You’ve lost weight and you look like you haven’t been sleeping.” He looked up at Jason; the guy looked like hell. “Is it something I can help with? Or Tim? Is there a case that’s behind this?”

Jason bit the inside of his cheek again and continued staring at Dick’s hands. His head was throbbing, and his leg was killing him. He shook his head and immediately regretted it, the movement making the pain even worse somehow.

“No. I’ve just been tired. I think it’s mono or something. M’fine.”

His words slurred together, and Dick stood up, ready to pick him up and haul him off to see Leslie.

“Jason, are you…”

Jason put a hand out, waving him off.

“It’s just a headache. Going to bed. Use the front door when you leave. It’ll lock behind you.”

He shuffled down the hallway, taking his shirt off as he went. Dick followed him, his eyes widening at the deep purple bruising across Jason’s upper back. Dick touched a finger to his mask and immediately snapped a photo of the bruising.

“Jesus, Jay! What the hell happened?”

Dick hurried after him, hoping he didn’t pass out before he made it into bed. Jason leaned against the wall next to his bed, kicking out of his pants before collapsing onto the mattress, facing away from the door. Dick was there in a heartbeat, helping him settle in. Up close he really noticed the loss in muscle mass. Jason was still beyond capable of doing what they did and being good at it, but the difference since he last saw Jason three weeks ago was startling.

“Someone snuck up on me with a two-by-four,” he mumbled.

Dick snorted. All things considered, the idea of someone creeping up behind the Red Hood with a two-by-four was amusing.

“Why weren’t you wearing your body armor?”

Jason looked up and threw him a dirty look.

“I was, you ass.” He swatted Dick’s hand away and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He was shivering. Dick looked around and found another blanket on the floor.

“You didn’t get hit in the head, did you?” He sat down on the edge of the bed near Jason’s hip, fingers checking Jason’s scalp for lumps and bruising. He shoved Dick’s hand away again.

“God, Dick. No. Other than the two-by-four, I’m okay. Just let me sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“I saw the bandages on your arm. Do you want me to take a look at it? Are there stitches to check?”

“No, it’s good.”

Dick sat there a moment, looking around Jason’s room. There wasn’t much on the walls, save for a few photographs. He knew Jason took photos for surveillance purposes, but these were of the Gotham skyline and taken from a vantage point usually observed by members of their family. They were great shots. His gaze settled on a single photo propped against a lamp on the nightstand. Bruce and Jason stood near the gates of the manor and Jason was in his school uniform. They were both smiling, Bruce’s arm around Jason’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Little Wing?” Dick was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Jason. He looked so much younger when he was sick. It was easy to forget how young they all were, sometimes. He felt guilty for not realizing Jason wasn’t feeling well. He’d likely been dealing with it on his own, and considering the weight loss? He’d been alone for quite some time.

“Hmm?” Jason opened his eyes, struggling to focus on Dick. Dick gently combed his fingers through Jason’s hair.

“Promise me you’ll call in the morning.” His voice took on a worried tone. Jason’s senses went on alert; no one had used that tone with him a while, such genuine concern.

“Why?”

“Just promise you’ll call.”

“Fine. I’ll call you when I get up. Now will you go home?”

“Yeah, I’ll go. Do you need anything before I do?”

“Water and the ibuprofen.”

Dick was surprised at Jason’s willingness to go along with being taken care of. He went and got the items and tried to find something for Jason to eat with it. He noticed the leftovers in the fridge and smiled before heading back to Jason’s room.

“One other thing. Try to eat when you take this next, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” His reply was muffled by the blankets and he was hovering on the edge of sleep.

“Sleep well, Jaybird.”

“Get out, Dickiebird.”

Dick shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face at the hint of fondness in Jason’s tone. On his way down the stairs, he pulled his phone out and replied to Roy's text.

_Thanks for the heads up. Talked to him tonight. He'll be in good hands one way or another._

A moment later, Roy replied with a simple 'thank you'. Satisfied, he grappled up to the top of Jason's building, ready to head home for the night. He wasn't surprised to see Batman standing at the roof's edge.

“Is he alright?”

“You really have been following him.”

Batman didn’t turn around, instead continuing to stare out over the city.

“You would be too, if you’ve seen what I have.” It wasn't quite his Batman voice; there was more of Bruce there than he likely realized. Dick remained where he'd landed, standing several feet behind him.

“And if you’ve seen what I have, you’d haul him off to see Leslie immediately.”

That got him to turn around to face Dick.

“What’s wrong?”

Dick shrugged, weighing just how much to tell Bruce about what he saw.

“Not sure. Massive bruising all over his back that he tells me came from a two-by-four, but I seriously doubt it. Then there’s the weight loss, loss of appetite and the fact he’s taking eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen at a time and it barely touches the pain he won’t admit he’s in.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

“I saw the incident with the two-by-four; that happened the way he told you.”

Dick was skeptical but said nothing. He opened his gauntlet screen and showed him the photo. Bruce took one look at the photo and there was a sharp inhale.

“Send that to me. Now.”

Dick sent the photo, but he was wary.

“Batman, wait until I talk to him before you do anything.” He got a glare in response. “I agree there’s something wrong, but he was willing to talk to me about it tonight and that’s a good sign. I made him promise me he’d call me in the morning, and I believe him. Wait until after that. Please?”

Bruce was studying the bruise, seeing the weight loss and loss in muscle mass.

“He’s lost at least fifteen pounds. Maybe twenty.”

Dick put his hand on Batman’s forearm, pushing his arm down and making him focus on something else for a moment. The gauntlet screen went dark and disappeared.

“When I talk to him in the morning, I’ll fill you in, okay? We’ll go from there. I’m glad you’ve kept an eye on him. It was the right thing to do. Even if he’s annoyed by it.”

“I need to find out what’s making him sick.”

Dick sighed.

_This isn’t a case to solve, Bruce. He’s your son._

“Based on the fatigue, lack of appetite and the pain he’s in? I’m guessing mono.”

Bruce nodded and pulled out his grapple.

“It’s a possibility. Thanks for checking in on him.”

“Of course, but I’m only here because I got a text from Arsenal this afternoon. He noticed something when they had lunch today.”

“What did he say?”

“To sic Alfred on him.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Good. Have a good night, B. I’ll talk to you later.”

* * *

Back in Jason's apartment, he sat up in bed after feeling something wet on his face. His shoulders slumped in annoyance and he went to the bathroom, holding his nose.

There was blood on his pillowcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else think Jason needs to see a doctor? For crying out loud... bloodstains are hard to get out!
> 
> And thank you for all of the kudos and the feedback- I've never had this kind of response to a fic and it's been absolutely awesome. :)


	3. The skies darken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone crouched next to him and carefully removed his helmet, fingers running over his scalp looking for lacerations or fractures. The touch was gentle, the hands relatively small. 
> 
> Just before his eyes rolled back in his head his caretaker broke the silence.
> 
> "Tt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late; I intended to post it earlier in the week, but I've been on vacation with a spotty internet connection. I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> There's some swearing in this chapter and several people get shot (nothing graphic), so be warned.

Dick paced the length of his living room. The morning sun spilled light through his window, giving his apartment a cheery glow he didn't notice. He was staring intently at the phone in his hand, willing it to ring. It was just before ten-thirty and Jason should have called by now. When he left Jason's place last night, it was only about two-thirty- an early night by their standards. And while Jason hadn't been feeling well, he promised Dick he'd call. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up because Jason hadn’t reached out to any of them in the few months he’d been back in Gotham, but he couldn’t help it.

He collapsed onto the couch and shoved his phone underneath his pillow. He'd slept on the couch for a few hours after he got home, unable to fall asleep in his own bed. It was too quiet in his room and between the sounds of the city outside his window and whatever had been on TV, it was just enough to lull him to sleep until the sun came up.

He leaned his head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. As hard as he was trying to relax, it wasn't working. He was wound tighter than usual and the pent-up nervous energy was driving him crazy. When his leg began to bounce up and down, his resolve crumbled, and he grabbed the phone and dialed Jason's number. It rang six times before the factory-set voicemail greeting blared in his ear.

Dick hung up, tossing the phone onto the coffee table and headed toward his room to change clothes. He needed to kill some time and calm his nerves. Going for a run should help. 

Before he headed out into the rare Bludhaven sunshine he checked his phone one more time.

No missed calls, no texts.

* * *

Jason rolled over and opened his eyes. Though his curtains were closed, the amount of light peeking in from the small gap between them told him it was time to get up. He'd much rather stay in bed, but he had stuff to get done today. He stretched, reaching his arms up over his head and straightening his legs over the foot of his bed, sighing at how good it felt. His joints were a bit stiff, more from sleeping so long than anything else. He wasn't in any pain this morning and that was certainly out of the ordinary lately.

He sat up and reached for his phone on the bedside table. Absently he ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing up in all directions as he looked at the screen. Though he was surprised that it was already almost twelve-thirty, he was more surprised by the fact he had two missed calls from Dick. He unlocked the screen and looked at the time stamps; he called for the first time almost two hours ago, the second time about forty-five minutes ago. And he didn't leave a message either time. If it was something important Dick would have left a message.

Not like Jason listened to most of the voicemails Dick left for him, but that was beside the point.

With a shrug he put the phone back on the table and wandered to the kitchen to make some coffee. He ran on auto-pilot, mentally running through the list of errands he had to do that day while he spooned grounds into the filter. As he stood next to the sink and waited for the coffee pot to fill, he noticed a room-temperature ice pack on the table.

The one Dick used while he was here.

He sighed as he recalled the events of last night, realizing why Dick called. He turned off the tap and grabbed the ice pack, putting it back into the freezer before stalking back down the hallway to his room. He picked up his phone and fired off a text to Dick before dropping the phone on his bed. Grabbing a grey t-shirt and black jeans from his closet he pulled them on, making a point of leaving his phone buried in the blankets as he went to go find his boots.

He was fine. He didn't need or want the attention; it was why he left Gotham a year ago.

When would they learn he didn't want them sticking their noses when they didn't belong?

* * *

From the shower Dick heard his phone chime with a text. He bolted from the bathroom, scrambling to keep the towel around his waist, and snatched his phone from the coffee table. The lock screen flashed with a text. 

It was from Jason.

_I'm alive, I'm fine and I want to be left alone. So back off. All of you._

He sighed, both in relief and frustration. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders at hearing from Jason, but he clearly wasn't 'fine', not after what Dick saw the night before. But short of kidnapping him and physically dragging him off to see Leslie, he didn't know what else to do at this point. Even in whatever state Jason was in, he could still make it nearly impossible to get close to him if he thought something was up.

Dick read the message one more time, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He started typing a reply but quickly deleted it and tapped a button. It dialed Jason's number and he held the phone to his ear. Three rings. Then four. After the sixth ring, he got voicemail again.

He didn't leave a message.

* * *

Three nights later Jason was conducting surveillance on another suspicious ship coming into Port Adams. Tony, his informant, had given him the tip but something didn't feel right. There was no way Two-Face would use the same shipping company or any of the same crew, so Tony shouldn't have had access to any of the details. But even so, he called Jason two nights ago with another hot tip and here he sat.

He crouched on the rooftop of a newly-constructed office building and watched. Adjusting the view on his helmet display, he zoomed in on the back of a truck that entered the lot behind the loading dock he was watching. The back of the truck opened, and Harvey jumped out, beckoning his men to help him unload something.

It was Tony.

He was barely conscious and tied to a rolling office chair. His face was bruised and bloody and he had a gag tied over his mouth. Jason watched as Harvey leaned down, his hands on his knees, and said something to Tony. Tony's eyes went wide, and he shook his head frantically. Harvey held out his hand and one of his men handed him a Glock. Jason watched him flick the safety off, cock the hammer and point it at Tony's face.

Jason flinched ever so slightly as the gunshot echoed through the empty dockyards. He was about to bail but he saw Harvey turn around and look right at him, waving proudly. They knew he was here.

He'd been set up.

He stood up and turned, ready to head in the direction of his bike when he heard a distant pop and a second later something slammed into his right shoulder. The impact spun him around and he hit the rooftop hard, rolling to cover behind an air conditioning unit. He stuck his hand into his jacket and felt a hole in his armor, wincing when he realized the bullet went through it. The armor slowed it down some, but the bullet was embedded in his pectoral muscle below his collarbone. Thankfully it wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening.

_Harvey, you son of a bitch._

He pulled up a map of Gotham in his display, trying to find where the sniper would be hiding. The only structure tall enough to allow for a shot like that was a radio tower about four blocks directly behind him. He drew his grapple and sprinted forward to the edge of the rooftop, swinging down to street level and into the shadows. If he could get to Grant Park, his own sniper rifle was waiting for him along with his bike. The scope on his gun was better than his helmet in a situation like this one.

After darting across the street and into an abandoned accounting office, he set his display to run a thermal scan. There was nothing on the screen to help him pinpoint where the sniper was located. He was either too far away or wearing a kind of optic deflection armor. Whoever it was, they were good. As pissed off as he was, he was also impressed.

The back of the office opened directly onto the street the next block over and it was only two more blocks to Grant Park. He cautiously stepped out the door and was ready to run when something hit the sidewalk in front of him, spraying him with chunks of concrete.

A warning shot.

Jason took off and ran across the street, ducking into another darkened alley. He was grateful the sky was overcast, or he'd have been dead already. He picked his way between buildings and climbed over fences until he could see the park half a block ahead of him. His breath came in ragged gasps and he stopped for a moment to assess his situation before going any further.

The bullet wound wasn't overly serious, but it hurt like hell and he could feel blood trickling down the inside of his armor. If he wanted to go any further, he needed to stop the bleeding. After an episode with Slade a year ago, he carried a small canister of wound filler, something he did at Alfred's insistence. It contained a clotting agent and an anti-septic treatment. It was dispensed like an aerosol and had a narrow nozzle on the end.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reaching into his jacket and inserted the nozzle into the wound. He bit his lip and pressed the button, the hiss of the container masking his own sharp gasp as it filled the empty space. Whatever was in this stuff stung like a bitch, but it worked. He had about two hours to get proper medical attention before it started to break down. Hopefully this shit-show would be finished by then.

He put the empty canister back in his pocket and drew one of his guns before cautiously looking around the corner, moving his arm to test his range of motion on his injured side. It wasn't ideal, but he'd dealt with worse. There was a black SUV turning the corner that would pass him in a few seconds and he could use that for cover. The moment it was in front of him he took off for the park entrance.

There was another 'pop' and Jason heard the bullet strike a tree somewhere close behind him. He immediately changed direction, making himself a harder target to hit as he made his way toward the center of Grant Park. There were several enormous trees near there that would provide excellent cover and from there his bike was only a few hundred yards further. But before he could take another step in that direction, he had Red Robin's voice in his ear.

"You're all clear, Red Hood. The sniper is down."

Jason closed his eyes and leaned against a small maple while Tim continued talking about how he used the new gunshot microphones the GCPD installed around the city to triangulate the locate of the sniper.

"Who'd you piss off this time, Hood?"

Jason opened his eyes and shook his head, opening his jacket to check his shoulder. The wound filler was still in place, which was a good sign. And since the bleeding was underneath his armor, the front of his shirt wasn't saturated with blood. He did notice the hole in his jacket, though.

_Damn it._

He zipped his jacket and his shoulder screamed in protest.

"Whoever it is, Dent hired him. He's a little irritated with me because of that deal I broke up last week."

There was a pause. Tim was probably dealing with the GCPD on his end. Jason kept walking, coming up on his bike stashed behind the park groundskeeper's shed. Tim's voice came through a few minutes later as he was about to leave.

"Based on my conversation with the sniper, I'd say he's a little more than irritated. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He knew his voice sounded strained but as hard as he was trying, he couldn't hide it as well as he wanted to.

"Were you hit?"

Jason knew there was no point in trying to deny it, but he could certainly try to downplay it. He didn't want or need another late-night visitor.

"Just once. Right shoulder, nothing serious. The armor slowed it down."

"Do you want me to come take a look at it?"

"Negative. I've got it."

"Are you sure? I can meet you wherever. If you're close to the penthouse, there's a med bay in the bunker. Fully stocked."

Jason shook his head. It sounded appealing but he didn't want to set foot anywhere near there.

"I'm sure. Can you send me whatever info you've got on the sniper? I'd like to know who he is."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"No. But thanks for your help. Now go home. And stop hacking into my communication feed, damn it."

"Ten-four."

Jason drove his bike back to his closest safe house, one situated between Robinson Park and Wayne Botanical Garden. He hated the neighborhood, but the location was a good one since it was fairly centrally-located. Plus, the guy he leased the place from owned a private underground parking garage a block away. On more than one occasion he'd spotted one of Black Mask's custom Mercedes SUV's parked there, so he knew no one would be coming across his bike. No one paid attention to the motorcycle covered with an old, dusty drop cloth.

He made his way back up to ground level and was relieved to see the area was practically deserted. Several of the streetlights were broken, so it was easy to blend into his surroundings as he crossed the street. Usually he used his grapple and entered his apartment from the rooftop, since he had the only unit on the top floor, but because of his shoulder he'd have to settle for using the stairs.  
  
Before he turned the corner he could hear voices, but he was so tired it didn't register who they were until he'd nearly run into two of them. Two-Face's men, by the looks of the ugly two-toned jackets and even uglier attitudes. Just what he needed after tonight.

"Evening, fellas. What brings you to this lovely neighborhood?"

A voice came from the back of the group.

"Just who we were hoping to see tonight. You know 'ol Harv gave us the go-ahead to beat you senseless after that stunt you pulled in the shipyard?"

He pushed his way forward and was holding an aluminum baseball bat in his left hand, tapping it against the palm of his right. The guy grinned and tilted his head, sizing Jason up.

"And he didn't care how bad we hurt you, neither. He just wants to be the one to kill you."

Jason shrugged and drew both guns, aiming one at the guy with the bat, the second at the guy to his left who had tried to get around behind him.

"Were any of you at the shipyard last week? Did you see what happened to the morons who tried to take me down?"

Several of them looked at each other, doubt and hesitation in their eyes. Jason smiled. The one with the bat stepped closer.

"The only reason you managed to break up that shipment was because of your pal Tony. I wonder how he's doing tonight, huh?" He smiled viciously. "Oh, that's right. He's probably at the bottom of the Gotham River by now."

Jason's blood boiled at the mention of Tony. He shot the guy on his left, taking him out at the knee, his scream echoing down the empty street. A smaller man rushed forward and dragged the injured one toward a car at the other side of the street, yelling as they went.

"Guys! He's using real bullets! Get him!"

Jason aimed both guns at the one with the bat.

"You wanna see if both guns have real bullets in 'em?"

The one with the bat snarled and rushed forward, swinging it as hard as he could. It knocked the gun from Jason's right hand and the vibration went straight to his injured shoulder, the pain nearly dropping him to his knees. He managed to keep hold of the gun in his left hand and get a shot off. It hit the guy's hand and the bat clanged to the pavement.

"You son of a bitch! You shot my finger off!"

Several of them rushed toward Jason and in the chaos, he didn't see the one return from the car and pick up the bat. It struck him across the back of his head, cracking his helmet and disabling the comm feed. White spots danced across his vision and he dropped to his knees as they all joined the beating. He tried to shield himself from their punches and kicks, but there were so many of them he couldn't deflect everything.

As he began to lose consciousness, he thought he heard a commotion somewhere behind him. The blows slowed and eventually stopped altogether. Several of them took off running and the others were moaning in pain on the sidewalk not far from him. Someone crouched next to him and carefully removed his helmet, fingers running over his scalp looking for lacerations or fractures. The touch was gentle, the hands relatively small.

Just before his eyes rolled back in his head his caretaker broke the silence.

"Tt."

* * *

Damian carefully lifted the front of Jason's jacket, frowning at the sight of the bullet wound. His fingers carefully probed around it, checking to see if the wound filler was still doing its job. Satisfied that it was he continued his inspection, his careful gaze scanning until he saw a darkened patch of fabric on Jason's left thigh. He used his thumbs to gently move the fabric out of the way, studying a small laceration about four centimeters long. He looked up at Bruce. He was on the phone with the GCPD. 

"There were two who took off, but the rest have been secured. Send the EMT's. One has a gunshot wound."

The call finished, he turned to Damian.

"Injury report."

Damian didn't move from his place on the sidewalk next to Jason. He was wrapping gauze around a small field dressing on Jason's leg.

"Gunshot wound to the right shoulder. It has wound-filler in it, but it won't hold for much longer. Possible concussion, no skull fractures. And there's a laceration on his left thigh."

Before Bruce could say anything, Tim dropped in from above. He was out of breath, having come from nearly halfway across the city.

"I got here as soon as I could."

He glanced down at Jason, unconscious and bleeding on the sidewalk.

"What happened?"

"He got in over his head with Dent," Damian said, barely disguising the annoyance in his voice.

"Robin," Bruce warned.

"What? He and Red Robin seem to be best friends. He could have called  _you_  for help. Though I'm not sure why he'd want to." Damian glared up at Tim. Tim rolled his eyes.

"Not the time, Robin. And I was handling the sniper who shot him, so I was busy."

Bruce ignored them both, still focused on Jason.

"We need to get him somewhere safe for treatment. Red Robin, get a blood sample that we can run as soon as we get back."

Damian stood and looked warily at Bruce, then at Tim. Tim was staring at Bruce in shock.

"What?"

Bruce stared at Tim, either not seeing the boundaries he was asking Tim to cross or not caring at all.

"We need to get a sample so we can run some tests to find out what's wrong."

Tim shook his head and handed the field dressing he was holding to Damian, who kneeled down and pressed it to Jason's shoulder. He turned back to Bruce.

"I won't do that to him. We lost him for almost a year the last time you pushed him too fast, too soon. You do this? He'll leave for good this time."

"Then I'll do it. Clearly you can see there's something wrong with him. He refuses to go see Leslie."

Tim shook his head again, still in disbelief. Damian finished taping the field dressing down and stood, warily glancing between the two of them.

"Whatever is going to happen needs to happen now. The police are almost here."

Bruce's jaw clenched. Tim brought his hand up and lightly gripped Bruce's bicep. Bruce dragged his gaze up to Tim.

"You can't make that choice for him. We'll get him patched up and I'll sit with him until he wakes up. Then I'll talk to him."

Bruce grunted his consent to the idea, and he crouched down, lifting Jason into his arms. It was surprisingly easy and that scared him.

"Let's go."

* * *

They brought Jason to his primary safe house since it was larger and had better medical supplies. Once he was settled, Tim and Damian got to work on cleaning him up. Bruce tried to help but the tension from earlier got to be too much, so he took stock of Jason's med kit to make sure they had what they needed and returned to his patrol route. He gave Damian strict instructions to contact him if anything went wrong.

First, they treated the gunshot wound using a compound to dissolve the wound filler before cleaning it thoroughly. Since it wasn't as deep as they anticipated Tim carefully removed the bullet and sutured it closed. He applied a clean bandage and moved on to the laceration on his leg. Damian had already cleaned and prepped it, watching with curiosity as Tim added four neat sutures.

"What do you think is wrong with him?" Damian tilted his head, taking care to apply anti-septic cream and tape gauze over it. Tim shrugged. He discarded his gloves and began cleaning up.

"According to Dick, it's probably mono."

Tim started making a list of what they used so Alfred could stop by to restock Jason's supplies. He felt Damian watching him.

"You disagree."

It was a statement, not a question. Despite the two of them not always getting along, the older Damian got, the more they understood each other. He was getting better at reading between the lines, listening to what wasn't said.

"Mono doesn't explain the excess bruising or the blood loss from minor injuries."

Damian didn't say anything and stood next to the couch, looking down at Jason. When they got him inside, they'd stripped him down to just his boxers and even Damian could see something wasn't right. He had several sets of bruises, all in various stages of healing, and that was... concerning. Damian was aware of Jason's time with Ducra, so to see him covered in bruises despite his body armor was certainly a red flag. He carefully draped a blanket over him and turned back to Tim.

"What do you think is wrong?"

Tim looked up and avoided Damian's gaze, focusing instead on Jason. He had his suspicions but without tests to confirm it, he wouldn't dare speculate.

"I don't know. But I plan on sticking around until he wakes up, so we'll see."

Damian nodded once and moved to the window.

"I'm going to go find Father."

"Tell him I'll be here until Jason wakes up."

Tim removed his mask and body armor before making himself comfortable in a recliner adjacent to the couch. He had no idea how long Jason would be out, so he pulled up the case file he'd opened on the sniper and continued working.

About an hour later Jason began to stir. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around, confusion giving way to irritation when he saw Tim in the kitchen. He moved to sit up, wincing at the soreness and stiffness he felt.

"What happened? And what are you still doing here?"

Tim raised an eyebrow as he came back into the small living room, carrying a cup of coffee and a glass of water. He set the water down in front of Jason next to several tablets Jason assumed were antibiotics and painkillers. Tim confirmed that with a nod before he sat down in the recliner. He took a sip of his coffee.

“I didn’t see what happened- I got there after the fight was over. But from what Bruce said, you were jumped by a group of Dent's men. We knew about this place, so we brought you here.”

Jason leaned forward and grabbed the pills, draining half the glass of water along with them. He settled against the back of the couch.

“He’s been following me for weeks. He needs to back off. I can take care of myself.”

“On any normal day, I’d agree. But based on what I saw last night? You should really get checked out.”

He looked at Tim, narrowing his eyes. Jason was clearly angry, but Tim knew it wasn't with him. He wasn't at all surprised when Jason abruptly changed the subject.

“Whose handiwork is this?” He gestured to the gauze on his shoulder. He peeled it back to reveal a neat line of sutures. “It’s too neat to be Dick. And Bruce wouldn’t bother.”

"It's mine."

Jason looked up, clearly surprised.

“Really? Huh. Nice work.” He taped the gauze back down and looked at the wound on his leg. “Thanks, kid.”

Tim bristled slightly at the 'kid' comment, but let it slide.

"Sure. And there were no signs of a concussion, either." He stared down into his mug, wondering how much he was about to piss Jason off. Apparently, Jason wasn't in the mood to wait for him to decide.

"Just spit it out, already. I know what you're gonna ask."

Tim drained his coffee, leaning forward to put the empty mug on the table. He didn't sit back in the chair, instead resting his forearms on his knees.

"The sniper's name is Anton Sullivan and he was hired by one Harvey Dent. He was wanted in connection with several murders in New York and Washington D.C. and he's being extradited as we speak."

"And Two-Face?"

"He's on his way to Blackgate for the murder of an employee at the shipping company. His body was found in the Gotham River by Dixon Dock about half an hour ago."

Jason drank the rest of his water, staring at the empty glass in his hand as he closed his eyes. He could still picture Tony's face right before Harvey shot him.

"How'd they pin that on him?"

He opened his eyes to see Tim get out of his chair and grab his armor.

"Oracle found some security camera footage from a new office building across the street. The construction company was worried about vandalism on the property."

Jason nodded and leaned forward, carefully standing up. Tim watched him as he put his armor back on. Jason didn't seem unsteady, so he left him alone. But he hadn't missed the look on his face when he mentioned the death of the shipping employee.

"Did you know the man Harvey shot?"

Jason hesitated in the doorway, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

"He was a paid informant of mine. He's how I knew about that first shipment."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

Tim stood in the doorway and watched Jason refill his glass at the sink. He'd seen the photo of the bruising on Jason's back, but that combined with the injuries from this evening and the weight loss, he looked so... sick.

"Jason?"

He heard Jason sigh, but he said nothing. He only turned his head to the side and stared at the floor.

"Would you consider going to see Dr. Thompkins? I know you don't want to, and I get that. But..." he trailed off and bit his lip, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Tonight was a close call and we don't want anything to happen to you. If you want help, I can…"

"If it'll get them to leave me alone, I'll call Leslie in the morning."

Tim nodded and put his mask back on.

"Good. I'll let them know." He turned to leave but hesitated, turning back to glance at Jason again. "Are you okay if I leave, or should I stay?"

Jason shook his head.

"I'm okay."

Tim headed toward the window. It was still dark outside, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

"Tim?"

He waited at the window as Jason appeared in the doorway. They made eye contact for the briefest of moments before Jason looked down at the floor again.

"Thank you. For all of your help."

Tim smiled faintly and nodded.

"You'd do the same."

Jason gave a half shrug.

"Thank the brat for me, too."

Tim grinned.

"That‘ll make him really uncomfortable."

There was a hint of a smile on Jason's face at that.

"Good."

Tim left and Jason crawled into bed, the painkillers making him drowsy. He was fast asleep in minutes. He slept for about two hours before his front door unlocked and Alfred entered with a new fully-stocked med kit, more antibiotics, pain medication and several containers of home-cooked food. He moved quietly throughout the apartment, tidying up where he felt it necessary and before he left, he went into Jason's room.

He took a seat on Jason's bed, gently holding the backs of his fingers to Jason's forehead and the side of his neck. There was no fever and he looked to be sleeping soundly, but he was disturbed at the pallor of his skin and the hollowness in his cheeks. The boy clearly hadn't had an appetite lately.

Alfred ran his fingers through Jason's hair before he stood up and tucked the blankets around him. He scanned the room, looking for anything to pick up or bring to the kitchen, and he spotted the photograph of Master Bruce and Jason on the far bedside table. He gasped quietly and put his hand to his mouth, his eyes tearing up. Master Bruce had the same photograph hung up in his bedroom, along with photos of each of his children.

He leaned down toward Jason once more and switched off the lamp beside the bed.

"Sleep well, Master Jason."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the next chapter ready within a week, since I'll be home soon and will have more time to write again. Thank you for all of your kudos and feedback- you all are freakin' amazing!


	4. Here comes the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie smiled and shook her head.  
> "Of course. I'll call you as soon as I know more, okay?"  
> Jason nodded and turned to leave.  
> "Try not to worry, Jason. One way or another, you'll be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, everyone! The one you've been waiting for! 
> 
> What's wrong with Jason?

Jason didn't call Leslie in the morning.  
  
He didn't call her the day after that, either. He spent the second day packing up both safe houses that had been compromised. The new place was in Little Italy and completely off the record. And at about fifteen hundred square feet it was spacious enough to be comfortable, but small enough not to need much more furniture than what he already had. Everything he had in the previous place fit nicely in the new one with some room to spare.  
  
Most of the third morning he spent on his new sectional couch, learning to love the chaise lounge portion as he caught up on some reading. It was wide enough and long enough to fit his large frame, but it didn't take up the entire living room like he'd anticipated. He was just starting to nod off when the burner phone on the end table next to him rang.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Jason? It's Tim."  
  
Jason closed his eyes and sighed, fighting the urge to whip his hardcover version of  _The Count of Monte Cristo_  across the room.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
There was a pause. It allowed Jason to calm down, mark his page and set the book aside. He climbed out of his comfy place on the couch and stood near the window, leaning against the frame. This place had a much better view than the last one; he could see the Gotham City Opera House from where he was now. It was a nice change.  
  
"Have you checked in with Leslie yet?"  
  
He closed his eyes.

Damn if it this family wasn't stubborn as hell.  
  
"Nope, been a little busy. But it's next on my list of things I plan  **not** to do." He could practically taste the sarcasm on his tongue as he hung up and tossed the phone on the couch. He ignored it when it rang again and went into the kitchen for something to drink.  
  
His glass was on the counter next to bottles of vitamins, pain reliever and the antibiotics Alfred left for him, along with a note instructing him to eat something when he took the antibiotics. Since he was due for his next dose, he might as well heat up the chicken enchiladas Alfred made. He'd brought them over from the old place because there was no  _way_  he was going to let Alfred's cooking go to waste.  
  
Jason caught his reflection in the window above the sink while he waited for his food to warm. Even with the slightly distorted view, he knew he looked like hell. The shadows under his eyes looked more like bruises. He was pale and his hair was getting too long, hanging down into his face. He ran a hand along his jaw and sighed. Maybe Tim was right- maybe he should call Leslie.  
  
The food forgotten, he rummaged through the couch cushions and beneath a heavy wool blanket to find his phone. He dialed Leslie's direct number, the one for the phone in her office. He wandered back into the kitchen while he waited for her to pick up. She answered just after the third ring.  
  
"Doctor Leslie Thompkins speaking- how may I help you?"  
  
"Hi, Doctor Thompkins. It's Jason."  
  
"Jason! I haven't heard from you in a while! How have you been? Are you okay?"  
  
He toyed with the bottle of antibiotics on the counter.  
  
"I've been alright. I... I was wondering how things were going at the clinic? Do you need anything?"  
  
"Oh, you know how things get here. It's been busy, but the good kind of busy. We haven't had many problems since you took care of that fentanyl problem a while back." He heard paper shuffling in the background as she likely worked through her lunch break. "I don't mean to be rude, but I've got some things I need to finish up before I start seeing this afternoon's patients. Is there something I can help you with, or are you just making an old lady happy by checking in?"  
  
Jason smiled at the way she teased him, a blush creeping up his cheeks.  
  
"I think I've come down with something. Maybe mono? Is there anything you can do?"  
  
There was a pause and he could picture her staring at the floor with her hand on her hip while she considered his question.  
  
"Drop by the clinic around five or so. I can run some tests to make sure and we can get you back on your feet."  
  
"Thank you, Doctor Thompkins."  
  
"It's Leslie, Jason. Anyone who's known me as long as you have can call me Leslie."  
  
"Yes ma'am," he replied, genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks. "I'll see you later."  
  
Satisfied he was on his way to feeling better, he pulled his plate from the microwave and sat down by the counter. He could read another chapter by the time he was finished eating.

* * *

Jason arrived at Leslie's clinic just before five that afternoon as the final patients of the day were leaving. One of the nurses, Sarah, was behind the front desk locking some file cabinets. Her back was to him as he stepped up to the desk.  
  
"I'm here to see Doctor Thompkins."  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closing for the day."  
  
"It's not a formal visit."  
  
She turned around, smiling in relief at his familiar face. When he brought supplies, Sarah was usually the one who helped him unpack everything.  
  
"Oh, it's you! Nice to see you again. She's back in her office."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Leslie looked up when he stopped in the doorway, smiling and removing her glasses as she stood up.  
  
"Jason, my boy. How good to see you!"  
  
She wrapped her arms around him, and he leaned into her hug, grinning at how hard she squeezed. She stepped back and put her hands on his arms, looking him over.  
  
"You've gotten taller since you were here last."  
  
Jason playfully rolled his eyes and glanced down at her.  
  
"Nope, I'm still only six feet."  
  
"Only," she muttered. She pushed past him and went back down the hallway. "Meet me in exam two. I'm going to grab some supplies."  
  
He followed her down the hallway and entered the exam room, removing his jacket and taking a seat in a chair next to the desk. She reappeared a moment later with supplies to draw blood. She laid everything out neatly on the desk and frowned at him.  
  
"How much weight do you think you've lost?"  
  
Jason shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. Haven't weighed myself lately."  
  
"Then let's do that first."  
  
She led him from the room and around the corner, measuring his height before he stepped on the scale.  
  
"You're still measuring just a shade over six feet. But I'm a bit concerned about the weight loss. You were about two twenty last time you were here." She tugged his sleeve and he followed her back into the exam room. "But you're down to about two hundred now." She pointed to the exam table and Jason obliged.  
  
"I haven't been hungry lately."  
  
She gave him a look as she picked up a digital ear thermometer and her stethoscope.  
  
"Define 'lately'."  
  
He sat still while she took his temperature. She glanced at the screen when it beeped before warming the stethoscope with her palm and sliding it under his shirt. He inhaled deeply and she moved it around his back, listening to his lungs.  
  
"Honestly, I don't remember. About a month, I suppose?"  
  
She carefully pulled down the collar of his shirt and hummed.  
  
"And the bruising?"  
  
"That was only the last two weeks or so."  
  
He watched her write down his vitals before making a list of his symptoms and how long he'd had them. She picked up the blood pressure cuff next. He automatically lifted his arm and she took his pulse and blood pressure. The numbers she wrote down were well within the normal range.  
  
"Fatigue? Sore throat? Headaches? Vomiting?"  
  
Jason shook his head.  
  
"I have noticed some fatigue and I do get headaches. But no sore throat, no vomiting."  
  
More notes were made. Then, with her fingers, she prodded along his neck just below his ear and under his jaw. She pulled a penlight from her pocket and a tongue depressor from the jar on the counter. He opened his mouth wide, allowing her to check his throat.

"Well, your glands aren't swollen, and your throat looks fine. That's good. But it also likely rules out mono."  
  
She waved her hand to the chair beside the desk. He climbed down from the table and sat next to her.  
  
"So what do you think?"  
  
Her brow furrowed as she added to her notes.  
  
"It's difficult to say. Whatever it is, it's more than likely something viral. If it were an infection you would know. But I'd like to draw some blood and run a few tests to be certain."  
  
She slid her hands into a pair of purple nitrile gloves and swabbed his arm with an alcohol wipe.  
  
"Do you have any other symptoms? Joint pain? Excess bleeding?"  
  
Jason nodded slowly.  
  
"Both. The smallest wounds seem to bleed like I severed an artery."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"I get the chills when I'm trying to sleep at night."  
  
She smoothly inserted the needle into a vein and attached a tube, watching while it filled. She swapped it twice more before removing the needle and holding a cotton ball over the site. Jason took over, lifting his arm and applying some pressure. Leslie jotted down his other symptoms and noted the time and date the blood was collected.  
  
"I'm going to bring these to the lab, okay? I'll be right back."  
  
Jason tried to smile, but it felt forced. She squeezed his shoulder as she passed.  
  
"We'll get it figured out."  
  
She came back into the room a few minutes later with two cups of chamomile tea, handing one to Jason. She took a seat at the desk and scanned her notes.  
  
"I'll run the blood work as soon as I can and call you with the results. Is your number still the same?"  
  
Jason nodded.  
  
"Good." She sipped her tea, watching him. "How's work going? Is there anything you'd like me to check out?"

He looked at her and shook his head, his smile returning.  
  
"How do you  _do_  that?"  
  
She grinned.  
  
"Think of it as something like a mother's intuition."  
  
Jason removed his shirt and carefully peeled back the tape affixing a bandage to his right shoulder. Leslie leaned in, squinting as she studied the state of his injury.  
  
"Gunshot wound?"  
  
"Yeah. Pierced my armor."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair.  
  
"You need better armor. But it looks to be healing nicely. Who did your sutures?"  
  
He put his shirt back on and stood up.  
  
"Tim did. There's a wound on my leg you'll likely want to check, too."  
  
She finished her tea and tossed the cup in the trash.  
  
"Should I step out so you can change?"  
  
Jason scoffed.  
  
"Nah. It's just above my knee."  
  
He unbuckled his belt and lowered his jeans before climbing back up on the table. The bandage peeked out from the hem of his boxers, which he moved out of the way before pulling the tape back. Leslie's eye narrowed as she leaned in for her inspection.  
  
"Broken glass?"  
  
"How'd you know?"  
  
"It's Gotham, dear. Did Tim do these, too?"  
  
Jason nodded.  
  
"Not like Bruce would have done it. And Damian's too young for sutures."  
  
Leslie raised an eyebrow but let the comment about Bruce pass without mention. She turned back to her notes so Jason could have a bit of privacy. Her stomach growled loudly. Jason noticed and grabbed his jacket.  
  
"I won't keep you any longer. Thanks for checking me over. I really appreciate it."  
  
She smiled and shook her head.  
  
"Of course. I'll call you as soon as I know more, okay?"  
  
Jason nodded and turned to leave.  
  
"Try not to worry, Jason. One way or another, you'll be fine."

Rush hour was in full swing by the time he walked back to Sheldon Station to take the train home. The station was only a few blocks from Leslie's clinic, but due to all the foot traffic, he missed his train. With an aggravated sigh, he turned around to find somewhere to kill time when he spotted an alternative option. Just across the street was the bus stop for the red line, which would take him right into the heart of Little Italy. He glanced down the street and saw the bus coming, so he hurried to the stop and dug out some dollar bills and a couple of quarters for the fare.  
  
The ride took longer than he anticipated due to an accident on the bridge crossing the river, so by the time the bus rolled into the Grant Avenue stop, it was seven-thirty and starting to get dark. He nodded a thank-you to the driver when he got off and headed in the direction of home.  
  
Stifling a yawn he crossed the street and started walking. It was a cool evening, cooler than normal for late September, but he was thankful for it because it woke him up. His stomach growled and he looked around for somewhere to stop and eat, spotting a bar on the next block that served food.  
  
He walked in, the scent of fried food and hardwood greeting him. The lighting was dim; it was a perfect place to lose himself for a little while before he went home. There was a dark, hardwood bar that ran the length of the room that looked like it had been there for decades, complete with shiny brass railings. The ceilings were low and dark wooden beams crisscrossed above his head. There were booths along the far wall and chairs all along the bar. There was one empty high-backed chair at the end of the bar nearest him and he took a seat there, nodding once when the bartender acknowledged him.  
  
"What'll it be?"  
  
"Bourbon, neat. And a menu if you've got one."  
  
"Coming right up."  
  
Jason leaned his elbows on the bar, running a hand through his hair. Something about the questions Leslie asked him was bothering him, like she knew what was wrong but wouldn't tell him. He hadn't missed the concern in her eyes when he told her about the bleeding problem and the chills. To her credit she'd tried very hard to hide it, but he'd still noticed something wasn't right.

The bartender slid a coaster in front of him and set the glass on it before handing Jason a menu.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
After not eating since lunch, he knew he had to get something in him before he went on patrol. He took a sip of his drink and scanned the menu, deciding on a club sandwich. There was a Gotham Knights baseball game on the TV above his head, so he watched while he waited, happy to see the Gotham pitcher had a no-hitter going.  
  
He was halfway through his meal and drink when his phone rang. It was Leslie's number. Jason stared at the screen for a moment, panic setting in. If she was calling now it had to be bad news. He signaled to the bartender he'd be right back and left his jacket on the chair, heading for the back door.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Jason, it's Leslie."  
  
He closed the door behind him, jamming a hand in his pocket and starting to pace.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
There was paper being shuffled on her end. Likely the test results.  
  
"I was concerned after I saw you tonight, so I ran your blood work myself. There were some results I wasn't expecting so I called a friend of mine who specializes in things like this."  
  
Jason felt his stomach drop to his feet. His mouth went dry.  
  
"What kind of doctor is he?"  
  
"She's a hematologist."  
  
"Okay. So, what's wrong with me? Am I a hemophiliac or something?"  
  
There was a pause and Jason leaned back against the side of the building, sliding down until he was crouched and his knees were in front of his face. Her voice was soft when she spoke again.  
  
"Jason, she's also an oncologist."  
  
He didn't hear most of what she said after that, only that she wanted him to be at the clinic by eleven the next morning for a conference call with the other doctor. He was too busy trying not to throw up the food he'd just eaten. He stared at the phone in his hand, angry tears blurring his vision.  
  
Cancer.  
  
After everything he'd been through, he now had to deal with cancer, too?  
  
Fuck.  _That_.  
  
He went back into the bar and ordered another drink.  
  
And another.  
  
Then two more.  
  
He didn't go on patrol.

* * *

It was almost two-thirty when he got home the next afternoon. Leslie's colleague, Doctor Leila Matthews, was a respected hematologist and oncologist who worked at the Mayo Clinic. She had a kind voice and was very matter-of-fact when she confirmed the results of his blood work. It was mid-stage; treatable, but still very serious. He would need more tests, of course, but they would only confirm what course of action he needed to take. Leslie, to her credit, didn't cry. But she told him he needed to start coordinating treatment soon and offered to call someone. They both knew she meant Bruce. Jason declined.  
  
All of that left him standing in his living room, leaning on the back of his couch and staring at the folder that lay open on his coffee table. The top page of paperwork said, 'Acute Myeloid Leukemia'. He looked at his phone sitting next to the paperwork. He wanted to call someone, he felt like he  _needed_  to call someone, but he didn't know who.

He took a seat on the couch with a sigh and scrolled through his contacts. Roy's number was saved as a favorite, but he was off-world and there was no way he would leave him a voicemail with news like this. Bruce's work number and the number at the Manor were listed. He scrolled  _right_  past both of those.  
  
Dick's number came next. He knew if he called Dick, he'd be there in a heartbeat. But he wasn't sure if he was ready for a panicky Dick Grayson. There was Alfred's personal cell phone along with a number Tim gave him once. He skipped those, too.  
  
A generic phone number was listed next. It was for Talia's answering service, the one Ra's and the others didn't know about. He hadn't spoken to her in quite some time, about a year, if he remembered correctly, but they were on decent terms. But as much as he longed to talk to someone, he couldn't bring himself to choose a number to call.  
  
He glanced around his apartment, panic settling into his chest. It was reminiscent of his last minutes in that warehouse, that feeling like the walls were closing in and his time was running out and there was nothing he could do to stop it.  
  
He bolted to the bathroom to be sick.

* * *

Hours later, wearing dark jeans, a red, long-sleeved Henley and his brown leather jacket, Jason parked his motorcycle in an alley. His grapple gun was secured to his belt beneath his jacket. Everything else- the helmet, the armor, all his gadgets and guns, he left at his apartment.  
  
He rode around the city for hours until his mind calmed down enough to where he could pretend to function normally. His apartment felt too claustrophobic and there was no way in hell he would be anywhere close to effective out on patrol. So, he went to the one place that could help calm him down, somewhere that was tucked away from prying eyes, but still out in the open. Somewhere no one would sneak up on him.  
  
The tallest building in Gotham.  
  
Wayne Tower.  
  
He stuck to the shadows and crept around back toward the entrance for delivery trucks, avoiding each and every security camera. He grappled up to the top of the building forty stories above the ground, reveling at the wind in his hair and the cold air in his lungs. At the top he found his usual spot between two ventilation ducts. They blocked the wind coming in from Gotham Harbor.  
  
Before he left his apartment, he did some research on chemotherapy and his kind of cancer. It didn't look good. Even if the cancer didn't get any worse, the side effects of the aggressive chemo he needed would be devastating. And he wondered if his exposure to a Lazarus Pit would cause any other side effects. Hell, he wondered if that's what caused the cancer to begin with. After everything else it did to him, he wouldn't be that surprised.  
  
He sat there for over an hour before someone found him, his legs dangling over the edge of the building as he tried to make sense of it all.  
  
“Jason?”  
  
Jason closed his eyes and didn't say a word. He wasn't that surprised someone found him. What  _did_  surprise him was the realization he was glad someone did.  
  
“We’re good, Red Robin. I found him. Circle back and resume patrol with Batman and Robin.”  
  
Dick disabled his comm and sat next to Jason, putting about three feet of space between them.  
  
“You had us a little worried. Your safe houses were empty.”  
  
Jason didn’t move. He wouldn’t look at Dick, staring out over the city. His lips curled into a smirk.  
  
“The ones you know about.”  
  
Dick bit back a smile. He visibly relaxed and leaned back on his hands, his own legs dangling over the edge of the roof.  
  
“Red Robin filled me in about what happened the other night with Two-Face’s men. You okay?”  
  
Jason’s jaw clenched at the mention of Two-Face. The bastard was lucky he was behind bars or he would have shot him on-sight the next time they ran into each other.  
  
“Nothing serious. Just some bad luck lately.”

He continued watching the city below. From this vantage point none of the chaos that was Gotham reached him. He couldn't hear the gunshots between gang members, the wail of an ambulance or the impatient honking of car horns. There were no foul smells- no garbage, no diesel exhaust. And from up there, on a clear night like this one, he could actually see the stars in the sky. It was more beautiful than he remembered.

Dick must have sensed there was something on Jason's mind, but he didn't immediately begin interrogating him. Instead he waited and watched Jason from the corner of his eye, pretending to also be staring out at the city.  
  
"No patrol tonight?"  
  
His tone was deceptively casual. Jason bit the inside of his cheek and looked to his left, away from Dick and toward Chinatown.  
  
"Not in the mood."  
  
Jason's honesty caught Dick's attention. He sat up and cocked his head, turning to face Jason.  
  
"Wanna talk about it?"  
  
"Not particularly."  
  
There were a few moments of silence before Dick spoke again, changing the subject.  
  
"Red Robin mentioned something about a sniper. A bullet pierced your armor?"  
  
Jason shrugged one shoulder and nodded.  
  
"Kevlar slowed it down. It wasn't serious."  
  
Dick winced.  
  
"Still, ouch. Must have been a higher caliber round."  
  
“Yeah." Jason paused, peering at Dick from the corner of his eye. "You can tell Red Robin Leslie approves of his suture technique.”  
  
Dick smiled proudly for a moment before he caught the reference to Leslie.  
  
“Wait... You actually went to see her?”  
  
Jason shifted, wincing at the soreness in his back from sitting still for so long. He was starting to get cold.  
  
“Did Red Robin not tell you about that, too?”

There was a subtle but irritated tone to his voice at this recent and massive invasion of his privacy. After what happened a year ago, when Bruce demanded he leave? How he was essentially kicked out of the family? None of them had any right to still care, not when they went along with Bruce's version of events from that night.  
  
Dick stammered.  
  
“Well, he mentioned he asked you to call her. He was hoping you would, but to be fair, we weren't sure that you would." He trailed off, guilty at the admission of their lack of faith. "But it sounds like you did the right thing and went to see her. What did she say?”  
  
Jason was torn. He could feel Dick staring at him, waiting for him to answer. He  _wanted_  to tell him. He  _wanted_  Dick to help carry the burden, but the thought of what that meant terrified him. It meant that he still cared about these people despite not wanting to. It meant being even more vulnerable than he was now. He didn’t know if he could take getting shut out again on top of everything else. He swallowed, trying to gather the nerve to blurt it out. But he was struggling.  
  
Dick slid closer, leaning forward slightly to try and look Jason in the eye. He felt the blood drain from his face when he saw Jason’s expression. Something was  _very_  wrong.  
  
“Little Wing?”  
  
Jason steeled himself and took a shaky breath, deciding it was now or never.  
  
“She ran a bunch of blood tests.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Jason looked at him before panicking and staring at the street hundreds of feet below them. It wasn't so beautiful anymore. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was now. Away from Gotham. Away from the bad memories.  
  
Away from people who cared about him and made things so complicated.

Dick nudged him with his elbow, trying to get Jason to focus.  
  
“Jason, you’re scaring me. What did she find?”  
  
Finally gathering the nerve he turned and looked at Dick. His voice was strained.  
  
“Cancer.” He swallowed and barely managed to get the next word out. “Leukemia.”  
  
Dick’s jaw dropped, and his shoulders sagged.  
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
A few minutes passed with neither of them saying a word. Dick moved closer until their shoulders were touching. Jason was shaking, from cold or fear Dick couldn’t tell. He pretended not to see a lone tear make its way down Jason’s cheek.  
  
“So what’s the plan?”

Jason leaned away from Dick, looking at him in total confusion.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Treatment. When does it start? What do you need? Where do you need to go?”  
  
In his exhaustion, Jason’s head swam with Dick’s questions. He shook his head to clear it.  
  
“I…I don’t know yet. I have to meet with an oncologist for more tests, but...” he trailed off and sighed.  
  
Dick frowned.  
  
“But what? Whatever you need, we’ll handle.”  
  
“I’m still dead, Dick. Jason Todd doesn’t legally exist.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“I don’t exist, you moron. Leslie can’t treat this. I have to see other doctors and specialists. I have to establish an identity.”  
  
Dick rolled his eyes.  
  
“Like O and Red Robin can’t handle that. Hell, I could do it, if you wanted me to.”  
  
Jason considered it for a moment. It was tempting; having an actual name, an identity, if only for the duration of his treatment. It would be nice. Then he thought about the medical bills. He had quite the rainy-day fund from his days as a crime lord, but paying for extensive medical treatment in cash would raise a ton of red flags. He could set all of this up on his own with no problems, but the prospect of help was appealing. And less overwhelming.  
  
Dick stood up and continued talking, giving Jason some time to process his offer to help while he paced back and forth behind him.  
  
“It wouldn’t be too difficult to lay a trail. Work history, a credit card or two. A rental history, maybe. Birth certificates are easy to set up. I think the hardest part will be choosing a name…”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Dick turned on his heel and looked at him, his mouth hanging open in shock.  
  
"Did you say 'okay'?”  
  
“You going deaf at your old age?”  
  
Dick hauled Jason to his feet and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Jason closed his eyes and leaned into it, squeezing as hard as he could. When Dick spoke again, there was a fierceness to his voice Jason hadn't heard in a very long time.  
  
"You're gonna be fine, Jay. You'll get through this."  
  
Jason sighed. He didn't know who Dick was trying to convince- himself, or Jason. It didn't really matter.  
  
Either way he knew he was in for one hell of a fight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say- reading your guesses about what he had was interesting and I had a blast seeing what you came up with! Some of you were really close. :)
> 
> Fun fact: In the first drafts of this fic, he actually had osteosarcoma (a kind of bone cancer), discovered because he had a tumor in his leg. But in my experience at work, that tends to lead to some complications I wasn't ready to write for, like amputations, fractures and whatnot.


	5. The heavens open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking down at her notes again, she tapped her finger on the next page.
> 
> "Next up, chemo. They want to start as soon as possible. What are your thoughts on that?"
> 
> Jason froze. She watched him carefully. A minute later he managed to answer.
> 
> "Undecided."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took on a life of its own and at 7700 words, it's a bit of a doozy. I hope you enjoy it!

Jason collapsed onto his couch not long after stumbling in through the window. Tonight, he chased down a couple of muggers, punched a man who tried to drag a woman into an alley and worked very hard to avoid Dick and Tim, so he was beyond tired. And he'd even called it an early night because of the appointment with the oncologist.

 _His_  oncologist.

The thought still made his head spin and his stomach churn.

He rolled over onto his back and sighed deeply. He'd laid there in the dark for quite some time and stared at the ceiling studying the shadows. The last few days were a blur. Between his effort to throw himself into patrol to take his mind off the obvious, talking to Leslie about treatment and Dick deciding to intrude further into his life by setting up the identity Jason never actually asked him to create, he felt like he was losing control of everything. It was like he no longer had a say in his own life. And for someone like him, who made a point of being in control, it was terrifying and frustrating, and he hated it.

The appointment with the oncologist was at one-thirty and he planned to meet Leslie first. She wanted to be there with him to make sure he understood what was happening and to help him decide what kind of treatment he wanted to pursue. But based on what he'd been reading since he was given his diagnosis, he wasn't sure he wanted to go through with any of it. Treatment sounded like a nightmare and he'd experienced more than his fair share. On top of everything else he'd been through, factoring in hospital stays, chemotherapy and its side effects, and the chance none of it would actually work seemed cruel, even by his standards.

He sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. All his intake paperwork was stacked on the coffee table next to a huge folder full of research he'd been combing through whenever he could bring himself to read it. Next to that was an outline of his new identity: a backstory, work history, a credit report and some other odds and ends. Somehow Dick managed to work in a tie to the Wayne family. That way Dick or Tim would be able to help if Jason wanted or needed them to. Jason suspected Dick did it because he wanted to be able to loop Bruce in somewhere. When called out on it, Dick swore up and down that's not what he intended. Either way, it didn't really matter. He wasn't sure how far he was going to go with any of this anyway, so it seemed unlikely he would utilize much of it.

Slowly, he stood and made his way to his room, checking the door and the windows along the way. If he went to sleep now, he could get about six hours in before he had to be up again. It wasn't ideal, but it would help.

And he needed all the help he could get lately.

* * *

It was five-forty the next afternoon when Jason followed Leslie into the coffee shop two blocks from the hospital. Because of the time of day, the crowd was small so Jason claimed a comfortable chair by the window in the back, away from the door. Leslie joined him a few minutes later, carrying two cups and a pair of warm blueberry scones on a plate. Jason stood and took the plate, smiling gratefully when she handed him a cup.

"It's an Americano with a splash of cream, no sugar."

"You remembered."

She sat in the chair next to him and took a sip, closing her eyes.

"You forget how long I've known you."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, taking some time to process everything they'd been told that afternoon. Jason immediately took one of the scones and broke off the corner. Until now he hadn't realized how hungry he was. He watched Leslie grab her notebook from her bag and flip it open, running her finger down the page until she found what she wanted.

"So, your biopsy is tomorrow at nine. Do you want me to be there?"

He stared out the front window as he finished the last of the scone. They explained everything about the bone marrow biopsy to him- that it wouldn't take that long, how there might be some discomfort after, and that it wasn't invasive. He wasn't worried about the pain. He could handle that. He was more concerned with the results, which he wouldn't get for a day or two.

"It's okay. You can skip this one."

She gave him a look that said she didn't believe him.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and took a drink of his coffee.

"Positive."

Looking down at her notes again, she tapped her finger on the next page.

"Next up, chemo. They want to start as soon as possible. What are your thoughts on that?"

Jason froze. She watched him carefully. A minute later he managed to answer.

"Undecided."

"What on earth does that mean?" she asked, frowning.

"It means I haven't made up my mind."

"Jason, you can't be serious. AML is highly treatable, even at the stage you're at. It won't be pleasant, but I can assure you, you have a good chance of..."

He turned to face her and held up a hand.

"I didn't say I  _wasn't_  going to do it, I said I'm not sure yet."

Leslie closed the notebook and put it on the table. She reached over and took one of his hands in hers and squeezed.

"I know you're afraid- this is a hell of a lot to process. But the longer you wait, the worse this gets. As it stands, you're going to get a very high dose of chemo the first round or two. If you put this off, you'll probably have to go through another round on top of that, maybe even two. That's several extra months of treatment you would have to go through."

Jason looked at her hand wrapped around his. This would be so much easier if he had someone in addition to Leslie to walk him through this. He knew she was right. And the part of him that wanted to fight this realized that it was better to attack on your own terms than to wait for your enemy to make the choice for you. But scheduling chemo meant he had to acknowledge this was actually happening and he sure as hell wasn't ready for that yet.

"I just need a day or two to process all of this, okay?"

Leslie smiled and squeezed his hand again before sitting back in her chair.

"I can do that."

"Thanks."

She went back to paging through her notes while Jason went and got them each another cup of coffee. When he returned she was making notes along the margins. He waited until she was finished before he handed her the cup and she put the notebook back in her bag.

"I'll type those up and e-mail them to you later, so you have them for reference. I've got all of the appointment details, contact information and the proposed chemo schedule so you can look it over this weekend."

"Thank you, Leslie. For everything."

"You're certainly welcome, dear boy. I wouldn't dream of letting you go through this alone."

Jason took interest in his boots in that moment, avoiding Leslie's stare.

"You know, you wouldn't be alone if you talked to Bruce."

"I'm not alone. I told Dick last night. And, since I told Dick, they probably all know by now, anyway. So, I don't have to bother with it."

She nodded in approval.

"Okay. But I still think you should tell Bruce yourself. He cares about you a great deal and would want to help in any way he could."

He looked at Leslie, raising an eyebrow.

"Clearly we don't know the same man."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm not sure what happened between you two, but all I know is that one day you were here, the next you were gone, and Bruce was in a cast for six weeks after breaking his hand in two places."

Jason nearly choked on his coffee.

"Are you serious?"

"He refused to say how he did it, but I think we all know by now what happens when you punch an immovable object with your bare hands."

He sat back in his chair. He knew Bruce was royally pissed off that night, but he had no idea he'd been angry enough to punch something without his gloves on. Deep down, he felt a little satisfaction at how painful that must have been for Bruce, considering everything he'd been through in the days leading up to that. It served the old man right. Leslie must have known he was lost in his thoughts because she continued her story.

"So, with you dropping off the face of the earth and Bruce being out for a little while, things went from bad to worse in my neighborhood. About a week after that, Tim showed up and started picking up where you left off. He made sure the kids were off the streets, that the shelters were fully staffed, and he set up a few grants to make sure they stayed that way. He's really a good kid."

Jason's eyes widened; he had no idea Tim had been watching over that part of town while he'd been gone. He sipped his coffee and made a mental note to talk to Tim about that.

They talked for a little while longer about his appointment that day before Leslie had to leave. Jason walked with her until they reached the station where she'd board the train to go home. She hugged him before taking his chin gently in her hand.

"Call me tomorrow when you get home, alright? And you are to stay home from 'work' tomorrow evening, regardless of what the doctor says. Are we clear?"

Jason grinned and said nothing.

"Jason Peter...If I hear you went out anyway, there will be trouble."

This time he laughed and hugged her again.

"I promise, I won't go to work."

"Good."

She turned and approached the platform, waving at him as she boarded. He returned her wave and turned back toward the hospital where his motorcycle was parked. As tired as he was feeling, he likely wouldn't be going out tonight, either.

And he was oddly okay with that.

* * *

The biopsy went smoothly the next morning.

The doctor walked him through each and every step, explaining what she was doing and why she was doing it. Despite the fact they'd numbed his hip and lower back, he still felt the needle being inserted and it hurt like hell. Thankfully it only lasted a few minutes before they removed it and the doctor was satisfied with the samples she took.

He had to lie on his back for a little while after they were finished, both until some of the local anesthetic wore off and the bleeding stopped. Once they were sure he was alright, they helped him up and checked his bandages. The nurse who assisted, a kind, younger woman named Lindsey, gave him a packet of instructions on how to look after himself for the next few days and sent him on his way with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Jason smiled and thanked her for her help. It was a shame; under any other circumstances, they might have really hit it off. She had a sharp, intelligent sense of humor and beautiful green eyes.

The moment he got back to the waiting room, he heard his name being called.

"Jason!"

He looked to his left and was surprised to see Leslie sitting next to an elderly gentleman. The elderly man smiled at her and patted her hand as she stood up.

"See, there he is. I told you your boy would be just fine."

She smiled and Jason stopped next to her.

"Aww, was she worried about me?"

The man chuckled, eyes full of mirth as he did.

"Don't let her tell you otherwise. I tried to keep her entertained with stories about my time as an Army medic, but she kept looking at that door like I wasn't even here."

Leslie turned to him and pretended to glare, failing miserably.

"Oh, hush, Frank. I was listening and you know it." She stuck her hand out and Frank grasped it, his large hand engulfing hers. "But it was a pleasure sitting here with you. Thank you for keeping me occupied. I hope your wife's appointment goes well."

"You're welcome. But thank  _you_  for keeping an old man company and tolerating my stories." He turned to Jason and the mirth in his eyes gave way to something more serious.

"Son, whatever you're dealing with, I hope it turns out alright. You look like a strong young man- I'm sure you'll get through it."

Jason nodded and held out his hand.

"It's Jason. And thank you. I hope your wife is alright."

With great effort, Frank stood and took Jason's hand. He was quite tall, standing eye to eye with Jason. His grip was impressive.

"Nice to meet you, Jason. And she's doing wonderfully; she beat breast cancer a while back and is here for a ten-year check-up."

Jason felt Leslie's eyes on the side of his head, a hint of a smile on her face.

"I'm happy to hear that. And thanks for sharing- I think I needed to hear that today."

Frank patted Jason's arm and sat down again.

"A word of advice, kid: no matter how strong and invincible you think you are, there are some things you won't be able to get through on your own. Surround yourself with people who love you, and you'll be surprised at what that can do for you."

Leslie hooked her arm around Jason's.

"I'll remind him of that, Frank. Thank you."

She pulled him toward the door, and they walked out to her car.

"I'll drop you off and you can tell me about the procedure on the way. Sound good?"

"Sure."

Jason folded himself into the front seat of her car, wincing a little at the ache in his lower back. He adjusted the seat and sighed in relief once he was able to stretch his legs out a bit. She got in and watched him carefully.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, just a little sore."

"That's to be expected." She turned the key in the ignition, the radio coming to life and warm air spilling out of the vents. Jason relaxed in the seat and leaned back against the headrest as Leslie put the car into gear.

"Don't think I won't remind you of Frank's advice, Jason."

Jason huffed an exaggerated sigh and rolled his head to the side. He couldn't help the shit-eating grin that worked its way across his face.

"You can lead a horse to water..."

Her eyebrows shot up and she laughed, pulling out into the mid-day Gotham traffic.

"Point taken. Now, tell me how it went this morning."

Leslie stuck around long enough to get Jason settled on his couch with an ice pack, a large bottle of water, some pain reliever and snacks to hold him over for a few hours until he was feeling up to moving around again.

"Do you need anything else before I go?"

Jason was already feeling drowsy, the exhaustion from the last few days finally catching up to him.

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

She was standing behind the couch and ruffled his hair before she turned to leave.

"Well, call if you do. I'll check in with you in a few days. Be good."

He managed to pry his eyes open long enough to peer up at her as she opened the door.

"Yes,  _mom_."

"That's Doctor Mom to you, young man."

Seconds after the door closed and he heard the lock engage, he let himself relax and fall asleep.

* * *

He woke up a few hours later with a throbbing ache in his back and his stomach growling loudly. He drank nearly half the bottle of water and ate both the granola bar and the banana Leslie set out for him. Slowly, he sat up and stretched. The pain in his back was worse than he anticipated, but still nothing he couldn't handle. He stood up and headed toward the kitchen to swap out the ice packs.

Before he sat down again, he grabbed his tablet and his phone. Once he was settled comfortably against the ice pack, he pulled up Leslie's e-mail from the previous day and read through her notes. Regardless of the results of his biopsy, they wanted him to be admitted to the hospital next Thursday to start chemotherapy. His stay would be at least a week while they administered the meds through an IV. He would need transfusions during that time and would need round-the-clock care in case something happened.

What happened after that was still up in the air, depending upon how he responded to treatment and how effective the first round was. Best case scenario, he was in the hospital for a week to ten days and then went home while the chemo did its thing. In the weeks after that, as his body replenished the cells the chemo killed, he'd be tested repeatedly to see how effective the treatment was. And none of that took into account how the chemo itself would make him feel, or that he would likely need a second round of treatment to try and put him into remission.

He tossed the tablet aside and shifted the ice pack to a more comfortable position. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Frank was right. Not only had he realized he didn't want to do this alone, he realized that day that he couldn't. Thinking about everything Leslie had done for him lately and how long it would have taken him to do what she had, he knew he should let people in. And despite everything that had happened between them, he knew who would be there. All he had to do was ask.

He reached for his phone and dialed. Dick answered after the second ring.

_"Jason?"_

"Yeah, it's me."

_"What's up? Everything okay?"_

Jason hesitated, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead into his free hand. It was now or never.

"Yeah, I'm good. I, uh. I need a favor."

* * *

Jason climbed out of the cab and into the rain, heading in the direction of the Wayne Foundation building. He had two blocks to change his mind, two blocks to try and talk himself out of this. He could still avoid the messy situation he was walking into. No one would know if he turned back now and went home to pack his things and leave. He could be out of Gotham in less than two hours and no one would be the wiser. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it wasn’t a good idea, he still found himself standing across the street staring up at the penthouse where the rest of them waited.

He shifted his umbrella and looked across the street. Dick was standing in the foyer just inside the front door, waiting like he said he would be. He hadn’t noticed Jason yet; he was leaning against the wall, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. His hair was soaked, and his shoulders were slumped with exhaustion. For a moment, Jason felt the familiar pang of guilt creeping into his mind at being the cause for such concern. But when Dick looked up and saw him, the weariness melting into a genuine, blinding Dick Grayson smile, Jason’s guilt disappeared.

Dick stepped back out into the rain to hold the door as Jason rushed across the street. He shook out his umbrella and closed it before turning to Dick, who was already holding the door to the lobby.

“Such manners, Richard.”

Dick laughed and followed him into the lobby.

“Hey, some of the stuff Alfred taught us managed to stick.”

Jason followed him to the bank of elevators across the expansive lobby, the knot of dread in his stomach tightening with every step. His feet felt like they were made of lead. They were all upstairs waiting, and he hadn’t been in the same room with everyone in such a long time. He stopped and stared at the call button next to the elevator. His arm wouldn’t move.

_I don't want to be here._

Dick sensed Jason's apprehension and turned toward him, putting a tentative hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“If you don’t want to do this, I can do it for you. Just tell me what you want them to know and I’ll go up there.”

Jason looked at him.

“Like they don’t already know.”

What Jason meant to be a flippant comment with no weight behind it came out with much more snark than he intended. The moment the words left his mouth he regretted it. He should have just stayed home tonight.

“What? You think I told them?”

The expression on Dick’s face was one of the few Jason had a hard time dealing with. He seemed genuinely hurt by Jason’s assumption he’d told everyone what was going on. Jason stepped back, putting a few feet between them, gripping his umbrella tightly and ignoring the ache in his lower back. He was in deep already- he might as well keep going.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. You were the first one to find one of my safe houses after I got back, then Tim shows up a week later. I help Tim and Damian with something one night and Bruce starts following me everywhere. He even watched me get my ass kicked on several occasions without stepping in. Tim hacked my comm feed and one of my burner phones, probably told you everything he saw that night I got shot." He shook his head and chuckled bitterly. “So, tell me, why  _wouldn’t_  I assume you guys all talk about my personal life?”

Dick chose not to step closer to Jason, instead remaining at a safe distance with his hands still in the pockets of his jacket. He slowly pulled one out and ran it through his hair. It was a move he used to calm himself down so he wouldn’t speak out of anger. Whether he realized it was such an obvious tell, Jason didn’t know, but he'd never tell Dick that.

“One, we aren’t a group of gossiping old ladies who sit around and talk about you like we have nothing better to do.” There was a coldness to his voice that would usually make Jason nervous, but considering where they were, he knew Dick wouldn’t make a scene. “Two, since you keep us at a distance and shut us out every chance you get, we have to talk about you since you aren’t there to do it yourself.”

He stepped closer to Jason now, close enough Jason could see flecks of deep blue that surrounded Dick’s pupils as he glared at him.

“Three,” he said, the anger still present in his body language, but his voice shook ever so slightly, “we care about you, whether you believe it or not. It wasn’t my news to share, so I didn’t say anything.”

He could tell Dick wanted to reach out and pull him into a hug. He raised his hand toward Jason’s jacket, his fingers trembling, before balling them into a fist and dropping it to his side.

Jason sighed and jabbed the button to call the elevator, wondering where that support had been last year before he left. As much as he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, deep down? It did. When he’d needed somebody on his side, the ones who could have, no,  _should_  have stuck up for him, didn’t. They stepped into the elevator and Dick hit the number for the penthouse.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty or like I was punishing you, Jay,” Dick said quietly. “But you seem to think no one gives a damn about you, which couldn’t be any further from the truth.”

Jason knew better than to argue. He stared at the space above the doors, watching the light move from floor to floor. Several floors passed before he said anything.

“Do they know I’m coming?”

Dick’s posture softened and the tension between them thawed slightly.

“They know something’s up, but they don’t know you’re the reason they’re here.” He looked over at Jason. His expression was unreadable, but his body language practically screamed ‘I’m nervous’.

The penthouse was only three floors up now, he was only seconds from having to talk to all of them. His heart pounded in his chest and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

_I shouldn't have come here tonight._

* * *

There was an unusual number of people milling about the penthouse tonight. It hadn't been a home or a base of operations for anyone in quite some time, but one would never know since Alfred spent part of his afternoon that day preparing for whatever Dick had planned. Alfred got the first and only phone call with Dick's instructions to make sure everyone was there that evening. The only pieces of information he got from Dick were that it involved Jason, but he was under no circumstances to tell anyone that, and that it couldn't be at the Manor for reasons that would be apparent that evening.

Alfred reluctantly agreed and made arrangements, sending a crew over to make sure the penthouse was clean and to stock the pantry. He told Bruce to make sure he and Damian came straight from Damian's volunteer meeting at the humane society. Tim had a dinner meeting and promised Alfred he would duck out as early as he could, but that he would definitely be on-time.

He took one last lap around the penthouse, making sure everyone was there and ready. Damian was on the couch in the living room, reading on his tablet. Tim sat at the island in the kitchen, completely engrossed in his laptop and whatever he was researching. The cup of coffee he had with him when he arrived sat next to him, untouched and forgotten. Alfred quietly stole it as he walked by, dumping it out and refilling it with something freshly-brewed and of good quality, not the swill from the place down the street. Tim nodded gratefully when Alfred handed him the cup. Alfred patted his shoulder and turned to Bruce.

Bruce was on the opposite side of the island, fondly watching the exchange between Alfred and Tim. He’d noticed Tim’s focus on his research and wondered what it was for. Ever since the night Jason was shot, Tim had buried himself in whatever it was he was working on and wouldn’t share it with anyone. The fact he’d forgotten about his coffee said a lot about his state of mind.

Alfred was talking to him about what they should do to decorate the Manor for Halloween, which was only five weeks away.

“I think the orange lights could work, provided they’re the correct type of bulb. Otherwise they make the exterior of the Manor look so garish.”

Bruce nodded and glanced out the window at the rainy Gotham evening. Hopefully Dick would get there soon; he had an awful feeling he hadn’t been able to shake since he got the call from Alfred.

“Master Bruce? Are you alright?”

“Hmm?”

Alfred turned to the counter and put the kettle on, doing his best to sound reassuring.

“Master Dick should be here soon.”

The sound of the front door opening caught their attention and Bruce met Tim’s curious gaze before he stood and turned around. Alfred squeezed Bruce’s forearm before heading to the foyer to greet whoever it was.

In the living room, Damian spared a hopeful glance toward the door at Dick’s possible arrival as Bruce came in from the kitchen and stood behind the couch.

“Put the tablet away, Damian.”

Damian sighed and locked the tablet, laying it on the end table. Tim took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and continued working on his laptop. Bruce was about to tell him to put it away when he heard voices from the foyer. He could hear Dick and Alfred, but there was a third voice. One that was deeper than either of them with a bit of hoarseness to it.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

Dick entered the room first, rubbing his hands together to warm them. He grinned when he saw Damian. He dropped onto the couch next to him and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug, making sure to sneak his cold fingers under the collar of Damian’s shirt.

“Tt. Get  _off_  me, Grayson. Your hands are  _freezing_.”

“Kind of the point, Damian,” he said, laughing. He settled in and cupped his hands together, blowing into them one more time. “What are you working on, Tim?”

Tim looked up and acknowledged Dick with a slight smile before looking back at the screen again.

“Some research.”

“Tim, I think that can wait a little while,” Bruce said softly.

Tim and Dick shared a quick glance as he closed the laptop, one Bruce didn’t miss. But before he could put any more thought into it, Alfred interrupted him.

“Come this way, Master Jason. Let me take your coat.”

Tim and Damian looked at each other, shocked, before looking to Bruce. Bruce looked at the two of them before glowering at Dick, who was curiously not surprised Jason was there.

“Dick?”

“Yeah, B?”

He looked up at Bruce, fighting back a smirk at Bruce being caught so off-guard. Alfred ushered Jason into the room before he could answer.

“Never mind.”

Jason walked in and stopped behind an armchair, resting his hands on the back. He was wearing a long-sleeved forest green shirt and black jeans, both of which looked slightly too big for him. His jaw was clenched, and Bruce couldn't determine if it was because he was nervous or angry. He hoped Jason realized there would be no fighting there tonight, not because Alfred forbade that sort of thing or because Dick and Tim would intervene, but because he wasn't interested in fighting with Jason. He never had been.

When Jason spared a glance in his direction it wasn't one of anger or hostility, and he certainly didn't look intimidated. No, there was something else that had Jason nervous. Whatever it was, it was likely the reason they were all in the same room. Bruce looked over at Dick, who had been carefully monitoring Jason since he entered the room.

“I have the kettle on, gentlemen. Would anyone care for anything?”

Damian spoke up first, then Dick.

“Cocoa.”

“Same here.”

Tim thought for a moment, sighing when he remembered the coffee sitting in the kitchen.

“Just my coffee, thanks.”

“And for you, Master Jason?”

“Earl grey, if you have it.”

“Of course.”

After glancing at Bruce, who simply shook his head, Alfred disappeared into the kitchen, leaving them in silence.

Tim closed his laptop and leaned forward to put it on the coffee table. The tension in the room was unbearable. Dick was watching Bruce, who was trying not to make it obvious he was watching Jason, who, in turn, kept an eye on the kitchen. Jason startled when Tim's voice broke the silence.

"How have you been, Jason?"

Jason dragged his gaze away from the kitchen to Tim. His hands gripped the back of the chair tightly.

"Now that Dent is behind bars, I'm good."

Tim nodded and sank back into the couch.

"How's the shoulder?"

Jason shrugged and moved his arm around.

"It's fine. There won't be any lingering issues, thanks to your suturing."

Alfred entered with a tray, handing Dick and Damian their hot chocolate. Tim stood and accepted his coffee, and Alfred set Jason's tea on the table before he took a seat in a chair across from him.

"Master Jason, won't you sit?"

Jason's posture went rigid for a moment before he nodded and went to sit down. He cautiously lowered himself into it. Tim and Dick glanced sideways at each other while Bruce studied Jason closely. Something was wrong and as much as he hated to admit it, he honestly didn't have a clue as to what it might be.

Once he was settled, Jason reached for his tea and took a sip. He wrapped his hands tightly around the mug, leeching the warmth into his fingers. He glanced over at Tim.

"Leslie was impressed with your sutures, by the way."

Tim's eyes widened and his cheeks turned red. Like Dick, he missed the reference to Leslie at first. A second later he caught it and looked at Dick. Clearly Dick already knew Jason had been to see Leslie, since he appeared to be relieved and not at all surprised.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he said quietly. “Just glad I could help.”

“Well, it was my fault for getting shot in the first place. He might have tagged me again had you not caught up with him.” He stared into his mug and smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

Jason drank more of his tea, still not making eye contact with any of them. In his periphery he noticed Bruce stand and walk behind the couch, arms crossed over his chest. He knew Bruce moved so he could watch everyone. He chose to ignore it.

"How does Doctor Thompkins think you're healing, Master Jason?"

Jason looked at Alfred and his face went pale. He opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out and he bit his bottom lip.

Bruce watched as Dick sat up and leaned forward a little, matching Tim's posture. They were both perched on the edge of the couch and while Bruce couldn't see Dick's face, he knew the two of them were having some sort of unspoken conversation. Tim looked puzzled, his brows knit in concentration. Dick subtly shook his head and looked back at Jason, seemingly telling Tim to do the same.

This exchange between his sons was unnerving, an entire conversation in mere body language. It was obvious Dick knew something the rest of them didn't, not even Tim. Jason looked like he was going to pass out. Alfred was clearly quite concerned and made no effort to hide it. He looked over at Bruce as if to ask if he had a clue as to what was going on. All Bruce could do his shake his head and shrug. He felt... left out. It was something he wasn't used to feeling and he hated it.

“Jason?”

They all looked at Dick, who was only focused on Jason. He tilted his head and shrugged one shoulder.

_Do you want me to do this?_

Jason shook his head and set his tea down again. Alfred noticed Jason’s hands were shaking but didn’t address it. Bruce noticed it, too. Jason rested his forearms on his thighs and stared at the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but like before, nothing happened. Dick spoke up.

“Jay, we know you haven’t been feeling well lately and we tried to convince you to go see Leslie. It sounds like you either caved in to our endless badgering, or you decided to be smart about it and go talk to her.” There was a touch of humor in his voice, enough to get Jason to relax a little.

“Like you guys could force me to do anything,” Jason muttered. He looked at Dick and smiled gratefully before turning serious again.

“But yeah, I went to see Leslie. She, uh… She took a few blood samples and ran some tests.”

Bruce felt something awful coming and carefully perched himself on the arm of the couch.

Jason looked at Dick, who gave a single nod of encouragement.

"It's not mono, is it?"

Damian's question was more of a statement than anything. Jason looked at him and shook his head. Damian then turned to look at Tim. He'd dropped his head to his chest and closed his eyes.

"I have cancer. Acute myeloid leukemia."

"How long have you known?" Bruce asked quietly. Things started to make more sense now, but he wouldn't deny it hurt that Jason had been carrying this information around all on his own.

"I found out three days ago after Leslie did the workup. The next day she and I called a doctor friend of hers to confirm the results. Yesterday we met with my oncology team and earlier today I had a bone marrow biopsy."

The room was completely silent except for the sound of the rain against the windows. Tim reached for his laptop again and booted it up.

"You didn't tell me you had all that planned," Dick said softly. "I could have gone with you."

"I was… I'm still sort of processing everything. And I wasn't alone- Leslie went with me yesterday and picked me up this morning."

Alfred and Bruce exchanged pained glances at Jason's admission he had chosen to keep everyone out of the loop. Tim's fingers danced across his laptop as he brought up the files he'd been working on.

"I've pooled a bunch of research on doctors who specialize in that area along with some promising clinical trials," Tim said, setting the laptop down again. "If you want, we can talk about what your oncologist said and see if there's anything that could supplement whatever treatment plan you decide on."

Jason nodded. He wasn't all that surprised Tim had figured it out.

"I take it you're using that identity I set up for you?" Dick asked, trying not to smile. Jason rolled his eyes.

"You mean the one I never actually  _asked_  you to create?"

"You mean the one you didn't  _have_  to ask me to create?"

Bruce watched their exchange and tried to ignore the ache in his chest as seeing Jason so comfortable around Dick and Tim. He knew he wasn't a necessary piece of his son's lives, but Dick made sure he knew he was wanted, as did Tim. The idea that Jason seemingly didn't want or need him around was difficult to bear. But he couldn't let the opportunity to show Jason he wanted to be involved pass him by.

"Is there anything you need?"

Jason's smile faded slightly as he considered his answer.

"I don't know. They want me to start chemo next week, but I haven't decided yet on what I want to do." He stared at the floor. "If I do that, I'll be in the hospital at least a week, maybe longer."

"Will they allow visitors, Master Jason?"

Jason looked from Bruce to Alfred, then back to Bruce.

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Then for starters, we'll visit you and keep you company." Alfred smiled warmly and looked over at Bruce. "Won't we, Master Bruce?"

"Of course." Bruce crossed the room, crouching next to Jason's chair. He covered Jason's hand with his own, meeting Jason's gaze when he looked up. "If that's okay with you."

Jason nodded.

"I think I'd like that."

* * *

Alfred turned off the lights in the kitchen and went back into the living room where Jason, Bruce and Dick were sitting. Tim and Damian went back to the Manor not long after Alfred served a late dinner. He wasn't too far behind; he had a busy day tomorrow and wanted to be back before Tim and Damian went out on patrol.

"Master Bruce, is there anything else you require before I return to the Manor?"

"No, Alfred. Thank you."

Alfred bowed his head once and knotted his scarf, tucking the ends into his coat.

"Then good night, Masters Dick and Jason. I expect to see more of both of you soon." He gave them each a stern look and a subtle wink. He turned to Bruce. "And I will see you later, Master Bruce."

"Good night, Alfred," Dick and Jason said in unison. Alfred smiled and turned to leave.

"Some things never change," he said quietly.

The front door closed and the three of them were left in silence. Dick yawned, which made Jason do the same. He stood and stretched.

"I'm gonna head out. Do you want a ride, Jason?"

"No, I'll take a cab."

"Are you sure?"

"What, you think I'm gonna compromise a safe house that none of you know about?"

"Yet," Dick said, pulling his coat from the closet. "One we don't know about  _yet_."

Jason rolled his eyes but made no effort to move.

"Let's keep it that way, okay?"

"Whatever, Jay." He put his coat on and dug around in his pocket for his keys. "Good night, you two. Don't leave a mess for Alfred to clean up." His tone was light, but the warning behind it was anything but.

"We'll be fine, Dickie bird. I don't think the old man wants to break any more bones in his hand." There was a cocky smirk on Jason's face at Bruce's surprised reaction.

Dick laughed and turned away from the awkward exchange.

"And on that note, I'm outta here."

The door closed and once again, they were left in silence. Now just the two of them, Jason could sense how uncomfortable Bruce was.

"Leslie told me you broke your hand after..." he trailed off. Thinking about the events of that night laid open wounds he realized never actually healed. "I think she was trying to convince me to talk to you and used that as a conversation starter."

Bruce stared at his hands in his lap, flexing the one he'd injured.

"I was upset and took it out on a defenseless oak tree behind the manor."

Neither of them knew how to broach the subject they both wanted and needed to talk about. They were standing on opposite sides of a chasm that had grown so wide in the last year. Minutes ticked by and rain continued splattering against the windows. Jason watched it trickle down the glass.

"If you hadn't gotten hurt that night, would you have gone to see Leslie?"

The question caught Jason by surprise. He'd never really thought about it.

"I don't know. I've dealt with worse injuries on my own." He continued watching the storm. "Somehow I think that choice would have been made for me eventually, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

At that, Jason turned around.

"Really? That's how this is going to go?" When Bruce didn't answer, Jason continued. "You've been watching me for weeks, maybe even months, Bruce. That night at the shipyard you watched me get shot at, blown through a window, and nearly stabbed without lifting a finger. What, were you waiting until I was too injured to fight back so you could take me to the cave, tie me down and run every test known to man?"

"No, Jason. I wasn't waiting for that. I was trying to figure out what was wrong, but you don't let me get close enough to talk to you about it."

Jason stood up, wincing when he went too fast. He reached under his shirt and checked the bandage on his back. He walked behind the couch and faced the window.

"And why is that, huh? Why would I keep my distance from you? Could it have anything to do with the fact you told me to leave Gotham? That I was no longer welcome here?"

Bruce didn't stand up, choosing only to lean forward. He knew this conversation had to happen, but he couldn't deny he really didn't want it to go this way.

"After what happened that night, I didn't have a choice, Jason. What you did..."

Jason spun around and cut him off. His eyes narrowed dangerously in the dim light of the lamp on the end table.

"You didn't even bother to ask what really happened! You took someone else's version of events over mine. Hell, did you even set up a crime scene that night, or did you just see him in a dumpster and assume I was responsible?"

Bruce didn't answer. He didn't know how. He thought he'd known exactly what happened, but from what he was hearing it was clear he missed something.

"That's what I thought. It's just like the diplomat, isn't it? 'Of course Jason did it; look where he grew up! He's got such a temper.'" He stalked past Bruce and threw open the closet door. He yanked his jacket off the hanger in the closet and turned back to the living room to see Bruce stand up and turn around.

"Jason, none of that is even remotely true. I know you didn't have anything to do with Garzonas."

Jason laughed bitterly and shook his head.

"Okay, so in  _that_  situation, you believe me, but not with Joker? Christ, I don't know why I expected anything different this time. I know I'm not the Golden Child in this family, but the fact we're even  _having_  this conversation is a sign you think I did it."

He turned to leave, and Bruce followed him into the foyer, turning the light on.

"What do you need from me, Jason? What can I do?"

Jason's shoulders slumped and he leaned his forehead against the door.

"I needed my  _father_ , Bruce. That night, I needed my father and you kicked me out. I'm not sure you can fix that."

He opened the door, but not before he glanced over his shoulder one last time.

"If I decide to do chemo, I'll send Alfred the details."

Bruce inhaled sharply, his mind reeling at the implication Jason might not go through with treatment.

"And if you decide not to? Then what?"

Jason let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"Then it's goodbye, I guess."

The door closed behind him, leaving Bruce alone in the penthouse.

What had he done?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I want you to know there's more coming in regards to the fight between Bruce and Jason, and Bruce isn't quite the terrible person this chapter makes him out to be. Remember we're only seeing Jason's side of things, for the most part, and I have yet to reveal what happened between the two of them.


	6. Come hell or high water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason stared out over the city, pointedly avoiding looking at Bruce. His fingers drummed against his helmet.
> 
> "Tonight was my last night of patrol," he said quietly. "I won't be going out anymore."
> 
> Bruce's stomach lurched and his heart thumped against his rib cage. He swallowed twice before he could speak.
> 
> "Please don't leave, Jason. We can work through this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves sheepishly* Hi, everyone! I'm sorry this one took so long to post. Between my full-time and part-time jobs, training for a marathon, and a few other things, time got away from me. To show my utmost appreciation for your patience and understanding, here's a doozy of a chapter at 9200 words.
> 
> This chapter has a few swear words, Jason gets sick and there's a bit of blood at the end, though nothing gory or graphic.

Two days later, it was still raining in Gotham and Jason hadn't spoken to anyone apart from Leslie. And that had been a short conversation- he'd only called her to tell her he was feeling fine after the biopsy so she wouldn't come checking up on him. He made up an excuse to hang up before she could ask him about when he was starting chemo. Dick and Tim sent a few texts asking if he was okay the day after the meeting at the penthouse. They both got the same answer. 

 _Never better. Everything's coming up roses_. 

They didn't reply to that, much to Jason's disappointment. He was itching for any kind of fight or confrontation to distract himself from what he was really feeling. Fear. Apprehension. Pure and absolute anger because this wasn't  _fair_. Hadn't he been through enough already? He was barely past the legal drinking age and already he'd experienced more misery than most people do in their lifetimes.   
   
Whoever was running the shit-show that was currently his life had it out for him, of that he was certain.   
   
He was sitting on his couch in the dark staring out at the dreary Gotham skyline. It was long past the time he usually went out for patrol, but he was having too much trouble concentrating to be productive out in the field. That, in addition to how ridiculously tired he felt, meant he was in no shape to even  _think_  about going out.   
   
His phone was on the couch next to him and he unlocked the screen. The voicemail message from earlier that afternoon was still there, unopened. Jason dropped the phone again and pressed his palms against his eyes hard enough he saw stars. He had a pretty good idea what the message was about and who it was from, and that was  _exactly_  why he didn't want to listen to it. But he also knew how important it was. With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes and tapped the voicemail icon, turning his phone to speaker.   
   
" _Jason, it's Doctor Leila Matthews. I'm calling because I've been in touch with your oncology team at Gotham General and they haven't heard from you yet regarding scheduling your chemotherapy. Based on the results of your biopsy, you should set up your treatment and hospital admittance date as soon as possible. I don't mean to scare you but delaying this much longer could have some serious consequences. I've left some more information with Doctor Thompkins since you two are close. Call my office if you need anything at all, okay? Take care and I'll be in touch soon._ "   
   
He locked the screen again and set the phone on the arm rest. There was a date circled in red on the calendar on the wall above his desk- the following Thursday, the last in September. It was when he was supposed to start treatment. All he had to do was call the hospital and confirm the details- what time to arrive, what he should bring. His tests results from early next week would determine how aggressive the first round of chemo would be.   
   
He sank further into the couch and pulled a soft, woolen blanket up to his chin. Alfred left it for him when he visited the night he was shot, and Jason had slept with it on his bed every night since. A loud clap of thunder and an equally-impressive flash of lightning drew his attention back out the window. One simple phone call, and he was too scared to make it. Was he afraid of the treatment? That likely wasn't it; he'd dealt with so much worse all on his own. The thought of some IV's, a hospital stay, or the side effects being anywhere near as bad as what happened to him in that warehouse all those years ago was ridiculous.   
   
Jason felt his heart beating faster and his breathing go shallow at the memories of the warehouse. Between that, the stress he'd been under and the noise from the storm outside, he was dangerously close to having a panic attack. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number from memory, the line going to voicemail after several rings.   
   
" _Hey, it's Roy. You know what to do._ "   
   
He swallowed hard and started talking.   
   
"Roy, it's Jason. Look, I didn't want to do this in a voicemail, but I didn't know what else to do. I.." He slammed his eyes shut and pulled the blanket over his head, trying to calm down. "I have cancer. It's not terminal, but it's pretty serious. At first, I wasn't gonna treat it, but I've had some time to think about it, and fuck that. I'm not ready to go just yet."   
   
Jason bit his lip and inhaled slowly.   
   
"I'm being admitted for treatment to Gotham General next Thursday, the twenty-eighth of September. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, you can reach me at this number whenever you get back."   
   
He felt his eyes start to water and his throat get tight.   
   
"If.. if you come back and I'm not here, just know I tried really hard, okay? I'm gonna give it all I have, until I can't anymore. Thanks for being there for me when most people weren't. Take care, Roy."   
   
Jason ended the call and buried himself in the blanket.   
   
He'd call the hospital in the morning and set everything up. 

* * *

It was a quiet Wednesday night by his standards, but that only meant everyone who was anyone was still locked away in their respective cells somewhere. That left the run-of-the-mill morons who thought robbing Gotham's largest bank would be a good idea. Jason dropped onto the roof and peered through the skylight, his thermal scan counting eight men in the bank below scrambling to get into the main vault and safe deposit boxes.   
   
After going dark for a few days, he'd re-enabled his comm and turned all his equipment back on. There was no need to hide from them any longer, since he was planning on being around for the next few months. He hacked the security system and opened one of the skylights before repelling down into the bank. He dropped to the floor and drew both pistols.   
   
"Hey, fellas. Can I get in on this?"   
   
Three of them stopped and raised their shotguns. Two more dropped everything at the sight of the Red Hood and laid face-down on the floor. Jason laughed.   
   
"See, they have the right idea. So, what do you say? No cash and ten to fifteen years for your trouble?"   
   
"Screw you, Hood. You're outnumbered."   
   
As they took aim, three batarangs sliced through the darkness and hit their targets: the hands on the triggers of all three shotguns. The guns clattered to the floor as Robin and Red Robin emerged from the shadows. They went to work, tying the three would-be shooters together before moving to the two who surrendered. Jason walked over and knelt next to the mouthy one. His voice was eerily quiet coming through his helmet.   
   
"Even if they hadn't shown up, it still would have ended like this. Never underestimate a guy with nothing to lose."   
   
He stared up at Jason, his eyes wide.   
   
Jason looked up at Damian and Tim, holding a finger to the front of his helmet. Damian rolled his eyes and continued unloading the shotguns while Tim contacted the GCPD. Jason turned and crept toward the vault where the remaining three men were ransacking safe deposit boxes.   
   
He casually leaned against the heavy vault door, inspecting his gun. They were so engrossed in what they were doing they hadn't noticed him standing there.   
   
"Uh, guys? Sorry to bother you, but your ride is almost here."   
   
They all dropped the stolen goods and reached for their guns but were a fraction of a second too slow. Jason aimed and fired, the rubber bullets knocking the guns from the hands of the two on his right. A lone batarang struck the man to his left, dropping him to the floor while he clutched his injured hand.   
   
"Nice aim, old man."   
   
His cape rustled quietly as Bruce brushed past Jason. He cuffed two of them and hauled them back out of the vault while Jason took the third one. Once they were back in the lobby of the bank and had left the men sitting in the middle of the floor, Bruce turned to Jason.   
   
"You really shouldn't talk so much. It's going to get you in trouble one of these days."   
   
Jason shrugged and holstered both pistols, removing his grappling gun.   
   
"Hey, I'm not nearly as chatty as Nightwing."   
   
Tim stifled a laugh from somewhere behind them but said nothing. Bruce's mouth twitched, dangerously close to a smirk.   
   
"Still. Your insistence on being a smartass drags things out longer than they need to."   
   
Jason watched Bruce step away to talk with Tim and Damian, presumably to confirm GCPD was on its way. Tim nodded and Jason took that as his cue to leave. He aimed and fired the grappling gun back up through the skylight, reveling in the feeling of being airborne once again. The moment his boots hit the rooftop, he sprinted toward the next building, firing the grapple gun and swinging up once again. He landed and tucked into a roll, coming to a graceful stop on the taller building.   
   
There were flashing lights down on the street in front of the bank now. He watched as Bruce appeared on the roof of the bank first followed immediately by Tim and Damian. Bruce scanned the rooftops and he felt Bruce's gaze stop when it reached him. He made no effort to hide or try to leave. Bruce paused for a moment and Jason watched as he said something to Tim and Damian. Tim turned his way and held a hand up in a wave. Jason waved back and turned to sit on an air conditioning unit. Tim and Damian took off in the opposite direction toward the Manor while Bruce grappled up to where Jason was waiting.   
   
Jason took off his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Bruce did the same, but not before hitting a button on his gauntlet computer. He sighed heavily once the cowl was back, stretching his neck from side to side. He must have noticed Jason's surprised stare.   
   
"Signal jammer. Radios, traffic cameras, and anything else like it won't work for two blocks. We're safe."   
   
Jason nodded and looked down at the helmet in his lap. Bruce took a step closer.   
   
"What's on your mind?"   
   
Jason stared out over the city, pointedly avoiding looking at Bruce. His fingers drummed against his helmet.   
   
"Tonight was my last night of patrol," he said quietly. "I won't be going out anymore."   
   
Bruce's stomach lurched and his heart thumped against his rib cage. He swallowed twice before he could speak.   
   
"Please don't leave, Jason. We can work through this."   
   
Jason snorted and rolled his eyes.   
   
"I'm not going anywhere, even if you try and force me out again."   
   
Bruce slumped against some duct work behind him, relief washing over him as he stared at his boots.   
   
"Then why are you quitting patrol?"   
   
Jason spared a glance at him, the muscles in his jaw tightening. It was a nervous habit he'd had ever since he was a kid that he'd never grown out of, one he unknowingly learned from Bruce.   
   
"Because I highly doubt they'll let me out of the hospital during chemo to go fight crime. I'm being admitted for treatment tomorrow."   
   
The shock on Bruce's face was obvious, even in the darkness. All he could manage was a nod. He was relieved Jason decided to go through with treatment, but he was also terrified of what it would do to him, of what he'd have to go through to try and get well again. A few minutes passed before either of them was able to speak.   
   
“Jason, about the other night. I know I’ve made mistakes. Seems like I’ve made a lot of them when it comes to you and me. But I want to make things right because it’s what you deserve.”   
   
Jason's posture went rigid and he set his helmet down next to him. He felt his hands close into fists and he bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to calm down. When he didn't say anything, Bruce continued.   
   
“If and when you’re ready, I’d like to hear what happened that night,” he said. “It’s clear I jumped to conclusions and I missed something.”   
   
Jason rolled his eyes and sighed, but still said nothing for a moment. When he was finally able to speak, his voice was tired and resigned. But there was anger there, too.   
   
“With him, your judgement is always clouded.” He looked up at Bruce and their eyes finally met. “But I’ll think about it.”   
   
Bruce nodded. There was still so much tension, but he could handle that. At least they were talking, and it hadn't come to blows.   
   
“I’m glad you chose to give treatment a try.”   
   
Jason raised an eyebrow so high the domino shifted on his face.   
   
“Why? Because you can’t stand the idea of me dying again?”   
   
Bruce closed his eyes and Jason couldn't help but notice his pained expression.   
   
“No, I can’t. It nearly broke me the first time.” He opened his eyes and looked at Jason. “Losing you again would destroy me.” He slid the cowl back over his head and stood up. “But that’s not why. You deserve a long, fulfilling life. If treatment can help you have that, then I’m happy.”   
   
Jason didn't know what to say and was only able to manage a nod. He wasn't expecting any of this from Bruce, not with the way things were when he left. He stood up and picked up his helmet, staring at it in his hands. Bruce could clearly see Jason was uncomfortable, and with his other sons, by now he’d have been able to hug them. But it was different with Jason. It always had been. He'd never been overly affectionate with anyone. Bruce took a chance and stepped forward, putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder and squeezing firmly. Jason relaxed under his hand and didn't step back.   
   
“We’ll come by and see you some time tomorrow evening. Is that okay?”   
   
Jason thought about it for a moment, realizing it was what he wanted.   
   
“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”   
   
“Good night, Jason.”   
   
“Good night, Bruce.”   
   
Bruce turned and leaped from the building, taking off in the direction of the Manor. Jason put his helmet back on and drew his grapple gun. Going home right now would mean he had hours to wait until he had to go to the hospital. He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep but with it being such a slow night, he'd be wasting his time by staying out any longer. He took off toward home with dread sitting heavy in his stomach.   
   
Once he got home, he did as much as he could to stay busy. He showered, cleaned his bathroom and cleaned out his fridge. He did a load of dishes, put away his clean laundry and took out the trash. The last thing he did was pack a bag like they told him to, making sure he had his tablet, charger, headphones, and the blanket from Alfred.   
   
Around three a.m. he started yawning and knew it was time to try and get some sleep. He did a quick sweep of his apartment to make sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything. He stopped in front of his desk to stare at the calendar, a gag gift from Roy for Christmas last year. It was a Wonder Woman calendar and a photo of her mid-battle was paired with September. He picked up the red marker and made an X through Wednesday the twenty-seventh, making it official.   
   
It was now the twenty-eighth.   
   
Before he could over-think it any further, he turned off the lamp on his desk and went to bed. He'd checked his alarm four times already and it was set correctly. As he lay there trying to get comfortable, he thought back to all the times he'd been unable to sleep after a nightmare or when he was sick. Catherine used to sing to him, some old lullaby she'd learned when she was young. 

Later, the few times he'd gone to Bruce, he used to hum 'Hey Jude'. And while it didn't always get him to sleep, it always made him feel better.   
   
He hadn't heard the song in  _years_  and wasn't even sure if it would work as he pulled it up on his phone. But as the song began to play, all the familiar feelings returned and overwhelmed him in a wave of nostalgia and heartache.   
   
_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_    
_You were made to go out and get her_    
_The minute you let her under your skin_    
_Then you begin to make it better_    
   
He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. but they came anyway, soon followed by muffled sobs as he turned his face into his pillow.   
   
_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_    
_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_    
_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_    
_By making his world a little colder_  

By the final bars of the song he'd cried himself to sleep. 

* * *

As promised, Bruce and Alfred come to visit him that first night.   
   
Leslie was sitting next to his bed and they were discussing the differences between the BBC  _Pride & Prejudice_ miniseries and the film version when Bruce and Alfred arrived. Alfred knocked and entered first. He carried a blanket and a small box. Bruce was right behind him, smiling at something Alfred said out in the hallway.   
   
"Good evening, Master Jason. How are you feeling?"   
   
Jason shrugged, holding up his arm to display the IV.   
   
"So far, so good. But it's only been a few hours."   
   
Leslie patted his hand and stood.   
   
"I'm going to head home. I'll check up on your tomorrow or the day after. Sound good?"   
   
"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks for staying."   
   
He watched her hug Alfred, then Bruce, before stopping in the doorway and smiling.   
   
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Good night, kiddo."   
   
Alfred sat down in the chair Leslie vacated. Bruce went around to the other side of the bed, but not before turning to Leslie.   
   
"Thank you, Leslie."   
   
She winked at Bruce, waved at all of them and left. Alfred wasted no time in settling into the caretaker role.   
   
"Ah! I see you still have that blanket. I brought another one just in case."   
   
"Of course, I kept it." He paused, running his hand over it. "You still use the same detergent."   
   
Alfred leaned over and put the spare blanket on the foot of the bed.   
   
"I certainly do, yes. You always did like the scent."   
   
Jason shifted forward in bed and crossed his legs, trying to get comfortable. He was wearing a hospital gown, but with a pair of light-weight grey sweatpants underneath. There was no way in  _hell_  he was going to walk around with his ass hanging out the back. He glanced up at the television before turning the volume down. The re-runs of  _Law & Order_ weren't all that interesting. He cleared his throat and looked at Bruce. He'd been watching Jason intently since he'd sat down.   
   
"They said I'd be here for at least a week, but most likely about ten days. The first few days they're giving me one drug, then they switch it to something else after that. I'm probably going to get pretty sick, but they have meds to counteract the nausea and stuff, so hopefully it won't be too bad."   
   
Bruce met Alfred's concerned gaze before looking at Jason.   
   
"Have they talked about transfusions at all?"   
   
Jason nodded again.   
   
"They said I'll need both blood and platelet transfusions, both while I'm here and after I go home. I'll probably be on antibiotics, too, as a preventive measure, since my white cell counts will drop so much."   
   
He fidgeted with the hem of his gown. He'd only been here about eight hours and was already going stir-crazy. Alfred mercifully came up with an idea.   
   
"As visiting hours end at nine p.m. and it's already seven, why don't we play a few hands of cribbage to pass the time? It's been too long since I've had any competition, Master Jason."   
   
"I beg your pardon?" Bruce asked, sounding genuinely put-out. "Did we not just play two weeks ago?"   
   
"Indeed, we did, sir. But I said I hadn't had any competition in quite some time."   
   
Jason laughed and held his hand out for the deck of cards Alfred pulled from his jacket pocket. He already had the board out on the table.   
   
"It's on, Al." He turned to Bruce and rubbed his hands together. "Think you can keep up?"   
   
"You forget who taught you how to play the game, Jay."   
   
"You may have shown me the basics, but Alfred taught me the art."   
   
Bruce pulled his chair closer to the bed and rolled up his sleeves.   
   
"Then prove it." 

* * *

Alfred left just after nine to go check up on Damian, despite the fact Dick was at the Manor with him. Bruce hung around after convincing the nurse to let him stay a few more hours. They were watching another episode of  _American Ninja Warrior_  when Jason started feeling miserable. His stomach hurt and he felt queasy, so he curled up on his side facing Bruce and closed his eyes. He felt Bruce grab for the remote to turn off the TV and he reached his hand out, latching onto Bruce's wrist.   
   
"No, don't turn it off. The sound keeps my mind off the fact I feel like hell."   
   
Bruce left the remote on the table, instead gently running his hand through Jason's hair.   
   
"Does that help?"   
   
Jason didn't move but opened his eyes a little when the bed shifted. Thankfully the only light came from the hallway and made it easier to focus. He looked up to see Bruce sitting on the bed next to him. His expression was calm and relaxed, which helped put Jason at ease. As Bruce continued combing his fingers through Jason's hair, his eyes slid closed again.   
   
"Yeah."   
   
"Good. I'll hang around as long as you want me to, alright?"   
   
"Okay."   
   
He drifted off a few minutes later and Bruce moved back to the chair, keeping vigil over his son.   
   
Just past two a.m. Jason woke with a start and sat upright in bed. Bruce was still there and still awake, and he immediately got out of the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. Even in the darkness, he could see how pale Jason had become.   
   
"Jason? What's wrong?"   
   
"Think I'm gonna be sick."   
   
Jason scrambled to sit up further and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Bruce grabbed the trash can, holding it while Jason retched violently. A nurse happened to walk by and poked her head in. Her voice was quiet, her tone sympathetic.   
   
"I'll be right back with something for that."   
   
"Thank you," Bruce whispered over his shoulder. "She'll be right back. You'll be okay."   
   
Jason coughed and spit one last time into the trash can before leaning back to grab a tissue to wipe his mouth.   
   
"I've had hangovers worse than this," he croaked. "This is nothin'."   
   
Bruce shook his head and put the trash can down.   
   
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."   
   
Jason carefully slid back into bed.   
   
"I'm of legal age now, B."   
   
Bruce ignored the pang in his chest at missing the chance to take him out for his first legal drink.   
   
"That doesn't mean I approve of drinking so much you get sick."   
   
The nurse returned with a small pitcher of water and a syringe of medication. She prepped the port in the back of his hand and injected the medication.   
   
"That'll help with the nausea and the vomiting. Just let me know if it's not a strong enough dose, okay?" She turned and dropped the syringe in the sharps bin before filling a glass with water. "And take it easy with this. Small sips, no chugging," she teased.   
   
Jason gave her a mock salute, his voice a hoarse whisper.   
   
"Yes, ma'am."   
   
She turned to leave but stopped in the doorway.   
   
"And sir? As much as I hate to be a buzzkill, I have to ask you to leave by two-thirty. I'm covering part of a shift for someone and he comes in by then. He's not as lenient as I am."   
   
Bruce nodded.   
   
"I understand. I appreciate you letting me stay this long."   
   
She smiled and disappeared back into the hallway, taking the trash can with her. Jason took a small sip of water.   
   
"We'll be by again tomorrow sometime."   
   
Jason nodded, taking one more drink of water before laying down again. He lowered the head of the bed and curled onto his side, pulling his blanket up to his ear. His reply, while quiet and slightly raspy, was still full of snark.   
   
"Here's hoping you don't have to sit there and watch me puke."   
   
Bruce sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes.   
   
"That wouldn't keep me away, you know. I'll be here whenever you want me to be."   
   
Jason cracked an eye open.   
   
"Who are you and what have you done with Bruce?"   
   
"What?"   
   
"I could have used that Bruce a year ago," Jason muttered, closing his eyes again. "Instead I got the other guy. The one who doesn't like me."   
   
Bruce opened his mouth to defend himself, but after hearing Jason's breathing even out as he fell back asleep, he bit his tongue.   
   
"Get some rest, Jay." 

* * *

The next several days were pure and utter misery.   
   
Between the vomiting, the fever he developed on day three, being constantly stuck with needles and the latest development of painful mouth sores, he wondered why he agreed to chemo in the first place. And none of that included the transfusions they started administering on day four or the strong antibiotics he was on to combat the fever and possible infection. It reminded him of the time he'd gone toe-to-toe with half the inmates of Arkham after a breakout. Only this was somehow  _worse_.   
   
But on the evening of day seven, however, he had an unexpected visitor. He was coming out of the bathroom yet again when he heard the knock on the door frame.   
   
"Anybody home?"   
   
He peeked around the door and his jaw dropped.   
   
"Hiya, Red. How's it goin'?"   
   
Jason made his way back to bed and climbed in, minding the IV line dangling from the pole next to him.   
   
"Harley."   
   
She came in and stood at the end of the bed, watching him carefully. She looked nothing like she had when he last saw her; her hair was all blonde now, most of the makeup was gone and she was dressed in grey jeans and a lavender cashmere sweater. She smiled and tossed her long braid back over her shoulder with a shake of her head.   
   
"I know, I know. I look different."   
   
"That's an understatement."   
   
Harley took a seat in the chair between his bed and the window. She was still studying him.   
   
"You look like hell."   
   
He scowled and rubbed a hand through his hair.   
   
"You dropped by just to insult me?"   
   
"Nope. I was here visiting a friend the day you checked in. Saw you in the lobby." She bit her bottom lip, glancing at the IV pole. "Leukemia, huh? I'm sorry to hear that."   
   
Jason shrugged and turned the TV on to muffle their conversation.   
   
"Why are you really here? Last time I saw you was when..."   
   
She grew visibly uncomfortable and popped her gum.   
   
" _That_  night, I know. I tried to track you down after, but you disappeared. I thought you were dead." She tucked her hands into her sleeves. "Apart from the current situation, how have you been?  _Where_  have you been?"   
   
He tilted his head, still trying to wrap his head around the fact Harley was sitting in his hospital room and asking about him like she genuinely cared. It was beyond strange.   
   
"I patched myself up that night and left town two days later."   
   
"I don't buy it, dearie. No one in your family just up and leaves Gotham for no reason." She paused a moment, giving him a chance to contradict her. When he didn't, she pressed further. "He didn't kick you out after what happened, did he?"   
   
When his jaw clenched, her eyes widened.   
   
"But you weren't the one responsible for what happened!" she cried, trying to keep her voice down. "What happened to him is all on me, kid. How does B-man not know that? Isn't he s'posed to be the great detective?"   
   
Jason laughed bitterly, immediately regretting it when he started feeling queasy. He closed his eyes for a few moments and only opened them once the feeling subsided.   
   
"I don't remember much about what happened that night, to be honest. All I know is that I got ambushed, stabbed, and woke up later in an alley eight blocks away bleeding like a stuck pig. He was in a dumpster and I got blamed."   
   
Harley stared at her hands in her lap, shaking her head before she looked at him again.   
   
"I didn't know he was gonna do that to you. I know you don't have a reason to believe me, especially after what happened when you were a kid, but please know I had no idea."   
   
He looked at her, seeing her blue eyes clear and full of regret, and he realized she'd been as much a pawn in Joker's sick game that night as he was. Not to mention because of what happened a year ago, she'd been aware of his identity, and by extension everyone else's identities, and had never breathed a word to anyone. He decided he believed her.   
   
"What happened? Where is he?"   
   
Her expression darkened and she focused on the floor in front of her.   
   
"If you don't remember, I'm not gonna tell you. You don't need that stuff in your head, kid. Trust me, I'm a psychiatrist." She looked up at him and smirked before looking down at the floor again.   
   
"You know where he is."   
   
She didn't deny it, which was all the proof he needed. She picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her jeans.   
   
"All you need to know is he's a vegetable somewhere and he'll never hurt anyone again."   
   
Jason let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The thought of the world being free of the Joker was mind-boggling. He could feel her watching him and he looked at her. She was waiting for him to ask the question, so he did.   
   
"How can you be sure of that?"   
   
"Doc says his prognosis ain't good." She paused, her voice taking on a tone of feigned sadness. "He had another stroke recently."   
   
The way she looked at him and popped her gum said more than words ever could. She was the one making sure Joker never got better. She was the one taking care of a problem no one in Gotham had ever been successful at resolving, at the risk of her own well-being.   
   
"I know it sounds wrong to say thank you, but still."   
   
At that, the hint of sadness in her eyes disappeared.   
   
"Don’t mention it, kid. Shoulda done it a long time ago." She stood up and leaned down, kissing him on the cheek. "I've gotta go. Pammy's waitin' for me."   
   
Jason's eyes narrowed playfully as she walked away.   
   
"I  _knew_  there was something going on between you two."   
   
She turned around in the doorway, a blush creeping up her neck.   
   
"Yeah, well, she's been good for me." She blew him a kiss. "Take care, Jason. And ginger helps with nausea, by the way. It's easier on your stomach than drinkin' soda or eatin' saltines."   
   
"I'll remember that, thanks."   
   
"It's gonna get worse before it gets better. But after what you've been through, you can totally handle this."   
   
Before Jason could reply she was gone. He stared out the window and thought back to that night. Although he'd been barely conscious, he knew now Harley had been the one to step in and put a stop to Joker's madness, and that she was still making sure of that.   
   
Who knew she had it in her to be a hero? 

* * *

The oncologist on-call the morning of Jason's eleventh day in the hospital delivered the good news just after Alfred and Dick stopped by for a visit. He was being discharged since his blood work finally came back with enough of an improvement.   
   
"Now, do you know where you'll be staying?"   
   
Jason didn't miss the way Dick grinned at Alfred and it made him nervous.   
   
"I plan on going home. Why?"   
   
The doctor looked up from the discharge paperwork.   
   
"Do you live alone?"   
   
"Yes, and I like it that way."   
   
The doctor spared a glance at Alfred before he replied.   
   
"Well, because of what you've been through, I don't advise you be alone right now. Complications can happen quickly and quite often patients aren't able to get to the ER on their own."   
   
"Doc, I think we have a solution. Jason here is practically family," Dick said, the expression on his face one hundred percent pure Dick Grayson charm. "He can come stay with us until he's well enough to go home."   
   
With that, the doctor signed off on the paperwork and handed Jason a folder full of appointments, discharge instructions and contacts in case he needed anything.   
   
"You're free to go, Mr. Pennyworth."   
   
Alfred's eyes widened as the doctor left the room and Dick had to try really hard not to laugh.   
   
"Your last name is 'Pennyworth', Master Jason?"   
   
Jason tried to put his jacket on, the act taking more effort than he cared to admit.   
   
"Blame Dick. He's the one who created the identity I'm using."   
   
Dick looked mildly offended at Jason's tone.   
   
"I wanted there to be a family connection in case something happened." He stood up and turned to face Alfred. "And it turns out you have a long-lost cousin back in England who sent his son here to Gotham to live with some family friends after his parents passed away."   
   
Alfred helped Jason into his jacket and put his hand to Jason's back to steady him.   
   
"Well, I'm honored to be your... second cousin, even if I think of you more as my grandson."   
   
Dick grinned and grabbed Jason's bag from the closet. He followed them toward the door.   
   
"See? It's perfect. It won't be awkward trying to pretend we're family because we already are."   
   
Jason rolled his eyes but said nothing. When the elevator reached the lobby and they were finally outside, Jason inhaled deeply. The fresh air felt amazing after almost two weeks cooped up inside.   
   
"Okay, now that we're out of there, we can drop the charade. I'll take a cab home and you two can head out."   
   
Dick and Alfred looked at each other and Dick shrugged.   
   
"We will do no such thing, Master Jason," Alfred admonished. "You're coming to the Manor to stay for the duration and I won't hear any arguments about it."   
   
Jason closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped.   
   
"You already moved a bunch of my stuff, didn't you?"   
   
"We certainly did!" Dick replied brightly. "All of your clothes, a bunch of your books and some other stuff was moved in two days ago. Tim was in charge and handled it beautifully."   
   
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jason muttered. "You found my place?"   
   
"Language, Jason." Alfred pulled the keys from his pocket. "I'm going to go get the car. You two wait here."   
   
Jason was in no mood to argue, so he took a seat on a bench and waited for Alfred. He was tired, weak, and everything hurt. Not to mention talking hurt his mouth on account of all the vomiting and the mouth sores.   
   
"Hey," Dick said, taking a seat next to him. "I know this must be overwhelming, but you'll have as much space as you need at home. I promise. We set up your stuff in a guest room, not your old room." 

When Jason didn't answer, Dick sighed and kept talking. 

"We just want to make sure you get what you need so your recovery can go well, alright?"   
   
Jason shrugged and scrubbed a hand over his face. It wasn't worth fighting over. Dick frowned at the massive bruise on the back of Jason's hand.   
   
"Does your hand hurt?"   
   
Jason turned his hand over, studying the bruise at the site of his IV.   
   
"Not really. Low platelets and stuff. I'll bruise easily and bleed a ton for a while, but that's what the transfusions are for."   
   
Dick nodded and studied him from the corner of his eye. His skin was ashen, his posture slumped and tired. He'd lost even more weight as a result of being sick. He bumped Jason's shoulder with his own.   
   
"Alfred's here. Let's get you home and in bed."   
   
Dick stood and held out his hand. Jason sighed and used it to pull himself to his feet.   
   
"It's not home for me, Dick. Don't call it that."   
   
Dick didn't say a word, knowing it wouldn't do any good to try and convince Jason otherwise.   
   
Sooner or later he knew Jason would see it was still home. He just had to realize it had never  _stopped_  being home. 

* * *

Jason woke up early that evening and the moment he opened his eyes he started to panic. He didn't recognize where he was and sat upright, eyes frantically searching for something familiar and that's when he saw it. The enormous trees outside his window. The Gotham skyline in the distance. He was at the Manor. With a groan, he collapsed back onto the bed and curled into a ball.   
   
A few minutes later he turned to the bedside table to see his phone and tablet both plugged in. There was a glass of water sitting next to a tin of ginger lozenges, the latter of which Jason assumed were for the nausea. And next to that there was a note from Alfred telling him to come down for dinner whenever he woke up.   
   
"Here goes nothing," he muttered and crawled out of bed. He went to the closet to see all his clothes hanging neatly, arranged exactly as they had been at his place. He pulled an old Gotham Knights sweatshirt, a black t-shirt and a clean pair of sweats from the shelf before grabbing boxers from the dresser. A hot shower sounded like absolute  _heaven_  right now.   
   
He stood beneath the shower head, savoring the warmth and feeling clean for the first time in what felt like weeks. Showers in the hospital sucked; they were lukewarm at best and didn't last nearly long enough. He worked the shampoo into a lather and when he went to rinse his hands, he noticed several tufts of black hair between his fingers.   
   
_Fuck_.   
   
Slamming his eyes closed he rinsed his hands and turned around, not wanting to see how much more would fall out. He knew this was a possibility, but still. There wasn't a way to prepare for it. He took his time getting dressed since the faster he moved the more nauseated he felt. Once he was dressed, he grabbed the glass of water from the table by the bed and made his way downstairs.   
   
He was pleased to see he was in the guest wing, but in the room closest to the end of the hallway. He was closer to Alfred's quarters than anyone else's and for that he was grateful. The smell of food led him to the kitchen, and he found Alfred cleaning up after dinner. There were two places set at the island in the kitchen. He turned when he heard Jason sit down.   
   
"There you are, Master Jason. Feeling better after some rest and a shower?"   
   
Jason nodded and shoved his hands in the front pocket of the sweatshirt. It was unnerving to feel so at home in a place he hadn't been for so long. In some respects, it was like he never left. He watched Alfred take both bowls and ladle some chicken noodle soup into them before taking a seat across from Jason.   
   
"You... you haven't eaten yet?"   
   
Alfred smiled gently and sipped his tea.   
   
"Of course not. I couldn't pass up a chance to sit down and have dinner with you, my boy. It's been too long, and I've missed your company."   
   
Jason blushed and picked up a spoon. He didn't know how to admit it, but he felt the same way. He stirred the soup to cool it before taking a bite. It tasted like bliss.   
   
"If the soup doesn't agree with you, I can make something else. I wasn't sure what you could eat on account of the stomach upset and the sores in your mouth."   
   
Jason shook his head and took another bite.   
   
"This is great, Alfred. Thanks."   
   
"You're welcome. How are you feeling in general?"   
   
Jason thought about it for a moment, taking a small bite of the warm bread Alfred slid in front of him.   
   
“Honestly? Not great, but I’ll manage.”   
   
"If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask."   
   
Jason met Alfred's gaze and smiled. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes until Jason was full and could eat no more. His bowl wasn't even half-empty, but it was more than he'd eaten at one time for the better part of a week. He felt bad about the rest of it going to waste.   
   
"Don't worry about what you couldn't eat. You ate more than I thought you would and that makes me happy."   
   
Jason nodded and stood, taking his bowl and water glass over to the sink.   
   
"Nonsense, Master Jason. I can handle the rest of the dishes. I prefer you keep me company instead."   
   
Jason smiled and sat down again, nibbling on a piece of the bread.   
   
"How's the book hunting going? Find anything good lately?"   
   
Alfred's posture straightened even further, and Jason could hear the smile in his voice. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed Alfred's company.   
   
It felt good to be here again. 

* * *

Later that evening, without knowing what time it was, something deep within Jason's chest told him it was time to go downstairs. He'd been sitting in the study trying to concentrate on a book but the later it got, the less he was able to focus.   
   
He wandered down to the cave and sure enough, they were all there getting ready for patrol. Bruce was suited up and at the computer, plotting their routes for the night. Tim was over at the workbench tinkering with something on his belt. Damian was in full Robin dress and sitting in the training area playing with Titus. And Alfred was tending to something in the med bay, likely restocking supplies.   
   
Tim noticed Jason first and rushed over to talk to Alfred. He whispered something in Alfred's ear and Jason watched Alfred smile and shake his head. He pretended not to notice their exchange and instead went to sit down in the chair Bruce had just vacated. Tim joined him a moment later.   
   
“I saw that, Timbo.”   
   
Tim shrugged and stared at the screen. He stood behind Jason’s chair.   
   
“I was only asking Alfred if he knew of any mold or fungus issues down here. There are none, so you’re good.”   
   
“I’m not the boy in the bubble. I can manage.”   
   
Tim looked down and rolled his eyes.   
   
“Yeah, because a wet cave full of  _bats_  is free from bacteria, fungus and mold.”   
   
“Anyway,” Jason said, pretending not to see Tim’s concerned frown, “I figure I can try and help out down here. Or at least watch and be entertained.”   
   
“Tt. Like we need  _your_  help,” Damian muttered as he walked past, lowering his shoulder and bumping into Tim. “We’re already overstaffed as it is.”   
   
Tim didn’t stumble but was knocked sideways. Before he could open his mouth, Jason spun in the chair and looked at Damian, his eyes narrowing.   
   
“How have you not broken his face yet?”   
   
Tim’s face screwed up with a laugh. He coughed into the crook of his arm and barely managed to smother it.   
   
“Remind me to tell you about the time he cut my line and I shattered his nose.”   
   
Jason looked up at Tim and grinned.   
   
“I knew I liked you for a reason.”   
   
Jason looked up at the screen at the patrol routes Bruce set up and frowned. They had Tim and Damian splitting up and covering parts of the city he usually patrolled.   
   
"Hey, Tim?"   
   
Tim was looking at the routes as well.   
   
"Yeah?"   
   
"Be careful out there tonight. There's been some trouble brewing between Penguin and Two-Face's lackeys and they're getting pretty ruthless."   
   
"Good to know. Thanks."   
   
Jason glanced over at Damian, who was standing next to Bruce by the Batmobile.   
   
"And keep an eye on the kid. I know he's good, but I just have a bad feeling about tonight."   
   
Tim followed Jason's gaze over to Damian before looking down at Jason again.   
   
"Sure thing. Let us know if you see anything we need to be aware of."   
   
Jason nodded and Tim headed over to his motorcycle, taking off into the night. Bruce gave Jason a nod before getting into the car. Damian joined him and gave Jason a small wave from the window. Jason grinned and flipped him the middle finger, to which Damian rolled his eyes and turned away.   
   
Once they were all out on their routes Jason manned the comm feeds, relaying pieces of intel and directing their efforts to the skirmishes that popped up around the city. It was a busy night for the three of them but nothing that out of the ordinary. At one point, Jason caught wind of an ambush on Red Robin's location and told Damian to hightail it over to Otisburg before things got ugly. Tim was already up to his elbows in gang activity and it wouldn't take much more to dangerously overwhelm him. Damian arrived just in time to thwart the ambush with Tim being none the wiser about it.   
   
"Thanks for the intel, Hood." Damian's tone was tired and slightly irritated at having to admit they needed Jason's help.   
   
"No sweat. It's what Robins do. Now report back to Batman. He's over in Coventry."   
   
Alfred observed all of this from the med bay, feeling immense pride and admiration for the brilliant tactician Jason had become. He was efficient and intelligent, heading off problems before they had a chance to escalate into something dangerous.   
   
"Master Jason? You've had a long day and should get some rest."   
   
Jason didn't turn toward him but spoke over his shoulder as he kept working on the computer.   
   
"They're wrapping things up, Alfred. It won't be much longer. I'll take care of things when they get back. Why don't you turn in?"   
   
Alfred sighed. He knew he should force Jason to get to bed, but he was also aware Jason might not be able to do this much longer. He could acquiesce to his request this once.   
   
"As you wish. You know how to reach me if you need to."   
   
"Good night, Alfred."   
   
Alfred draped a blanket over Jason's shoulders.   
   
"Good night, Jason."  

* * *

Things quieted down immediately after Alfred went to bed. Bruce, Tim and Damian ended their routes around two-thirty and reported they were on their way back. At the sounds of the car entering the cave a short while later, Jason spun in his chair. He watched Tim and Bruce climb out of the front seat. Seconds later the rear passenger door opened, and Damian stumbled out, tripping over his own two feet he was so exhausted. Jason heard Bruce say something to Tim and Damian, what it was he couldn’t tell, but they both nodded their heads and trudged past him. Tim muttered a sleepy ‘goodnight’ and Jason dipped his head, replying in kind. Damian paused next to his chair.   
   
“Todd.”   
   
Jason looked up at him, amused at the continued use of his last name.   
   
“Damian.”   
   
"Thank you for the warning earlier.”   
   
Jason didn’t bother to hide his surprise. He looked up at Damian to see him watching after Tim, something akin to relief on the kid's face.   
   
“Don’t sweat it.”   
   
Damian’s watchful gaze shifted to Jason, who’d turned to keep an eye on Tim.   
   
“Good night.”   
   
“G’night.”   
   
Damian unfastened his cape from his uniform and trudged toward the stairs. Once he was at the top Jason stood and turned back to Bruce, who was over in the med bay. Jason wrapped the blanket around himself and made his way over.   
   
“Are they okay? Where's Tim's bike?”   
   
Bruce was gathering supplies from one of the cabinets and paused. He looked down at the counter and put everything down, thinking for a moment.   
   
“They’re both exhausted, but they’re fine. The bike is at the bunker.”   
   
Jason thought back to earlier and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Bruce collected the supplies again and turned toward the gurney behind him. He had gauze pads, small forceps, antiseptic cleaner, tape, several bandages and a packet of suture thread. He laid everything out on the gurney before taking a seat in the chair next to it and peeling the suit back. Jason’s eyes widened at the scars that peppered Bruce’s arms and chest- some old and familiar, but many of them new.   
   
“That from a shotgun?”   
   
Bruce nodded and picked up the forceps.   
   
“Sawed-off. Thankfully the shells were damp so there wasn’t much kick to it.”   
   
Jason stepped closer and inspected the wound. There were six or seven small holes in his left bicep and shoulder, each oozing blood.   
   
“Can you turn on the light so I can see?”   
   
Jason reached up and turned on the light, wincing when he saw the bruising around the wounds from the pellets that were still lodged in his skin.   
   
“Let me. I’ve got a better angle.”   
   
He patted the gurney and Bruce stood, pushing the other supplies to the side before climbing up. Jason dropped the blanket on a chair and turned to the sink to wash his hands. He grabbed a pair of gloves before getting to work. He could feel the bird shot just beneath the surface of Bruce’s skin, so he didn’t bother numbing any of it. Instead he used the forceps and started retrieving the pellets, dropping them into the bio-hazard bin by his feet.   
   
Bruce watched Jason remove the first three or four pellets and barely felt anything. He’d always been good with first aid, not being at all squeamish, but in the years since they’d worked together Jason had really honed his skills. He worked quickly and efficiently, removing all the pellets and flushing the wounds clean before bandaging everything. He was finished in a matter of minutes. 

Jason took off the gloves and dropped them in the trash. He stepped back a few feet, scanning the rest of Bruce’s chest and torso, before moving around the gurney and checking his back as well. He picked up the blanket again and wrapped himself in it before coming to stand in front of Bruce again. Neither of them made eye contact.   
   
“Is there anything else I need to clean up?”   
   
Bruce shook his head.   
   
“No, that was all of it. Thank you.”   
   
He stood and put everything away before going to get a clean shirt.   
   
Jason wasn’t sure if it was the lights, the fact he wasn't eating much, or because of the chemo after-effects, but whatever it was, he didn’t feel right. Everything was hazy and he was suddenly very light-headed. He closed his eyes to try and make it go away, which failed miserably, and the dizziness got worse. Jason reached out a hand to lean on the gurney and instead found Bruce’s chest.   
   
“Jay? Are you alright?”   
   
Before Jason could catch himself, he was falling forward. Bruce caught him with ease, holding him tightly against him to keep him upright. Jason's arms dangled by his sides and his chin rested against Bruce's shoulder. He marveled at how he and Jason were nearly the same height now and his breath hitched in his throat as Jason wrapped his arms around him, his fingers tangling themselves in Bruce's t-shirt.   
   
"Are you going to be sick?"   
   
He felt Jason nod and carefully lowered him into a chair, sliding the trash can in front of him. Bruce gave him some space as he got sick, turning to the sink to wet a washcloth. When Jason was ready, he handed him the cloth and a bottle of water.   
   
"Let's get you upstairs to bed."   
   
Jason didn't protest and rinsed his mouth before spitting the water into the bin. He stood up and took the arm Bruce offered him, allowing himself to be led upstairs.   
   
"You were really something tonight, Jason. Someday you'll have to tell me where you learned all of that."   
   
Jason chuckled and stumbled. Bruce caught him and wrapped his arm around Jason's waist.   
   
"Kori and Artemis are great tacticians," Jason said as they neared the top of the stairs. "I've learned a lot from them."   
   
They made their way through the stillness of the Manor, the silence between them easy and calm. By the top of the stairs Jason was leaning heavily against Bruce and breathing hard. They reached Jason's room and Bruce lowered him into bed. He put the bottle of water on the nightstand and looked down at Jason, whose eyes were already closed.   
   
"The rest of it I learned from my dad," he mumbled, falling into a deep sleep.   
   
Bruce's eyes stung at the admission and he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, taking in the sight of Jason back at the Manor, back home. He ran his fingers through Jason's hair and his eyes went wide when they came away with clumps of it. It hadn't hit him yet, how sick Jason was, until he stared at the dark hair in his hand. This was really happening; Jason had cancer, and nobody knew what the outcome would be.   
   
He retreated to his own room, thoughts racing and staring at the ceiling until the sun came up. They would do whatever it took to make sure Jason beat this. But it was an enemy he'd never fought before, and he had no idea what he could do.   
   
For once, something was completely out of his hands and that terrified him. 

 


	7. Keep your head above water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What did you find?" Jason asked, terrified of the answer.  
> Before any of them could reply, Damian gently pushed Alfred's hand away from his face and spoke up.  
> "He found absolutely nothing supporting that ridiculous hypothesis," he said. "That's not how Lazarus pits work. I could have easily told you that."  
> Bruce looked at Tim and Tim nodded.  
> "He's right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone.. remember me? I've returned with another chapter in tow and another apology. About a month ago I got pretty sick (meningitis) and between that, the recovery time and life in general, time got away from me. 
> 
> So here's the next chapter and I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you SO MUCH for continuing to read and follow along, and if you've left comments or kudos, thank you from the very bottom of my heart for those, too. :)
> 
> Enjoy! Happy November!!

“I’m sorry, Jason, but you’re going to need a second round of treatment. You didn’t respond as well to the first round as we’d hoped you would.”  
  
Jason sighed and closed his eyes. He'd tried not to get his hopes up, but despite that he was still disappointed.  
  
“It’s only been a few weeks. Doesn’t this stuff take time?”  
  
Doctor Matthews smiled gently.  
  
“You’re absolutely right. It does. But if we wait much longer to give you the second round, the cells the first treatment wiped out will just grow back. By starting another round soon, we hope we can put you into remission.”  
  
“So it’ll be the strong stuff like the first time?”  
  
“You’ll have to have more blood work done to confirm a few things, but we’re going to give you a higher dose this time. If this doesn't work, the next option would be a stem cell transplant.”  
  
Jason glanced at Alfred, who was taking notes. When he noticed Jason looking at him, he put the pen down and closed the notebook. He gave Jason a reassuring smile and removed his reading glasses.  
  
“Thank you for your candor, Doctor Matthews. We'll go home and discuss the details. Jason or Doctor Thompkins will call tomorrow to finalize the treatment plan."  
  
She leaned on the desk, pushing the keyboard out of the way and took one of Jason's hands in hers.  
  
"I know this is scary and I know how bad the side effects made you feel the first time around. But we're better prepared now, so we can head off a lot of what you experienced the last time."  
  
Jason tried to smile, and it failed. He knew she was trying to help, but the thought of another hospital stay that would probably be worse than the first one made him feel sick already.  
  
"We'll talk soon. Take care, Jason."  
  
She left the room and Alfred held Jason's jacket open for him. Without a word they left the hospital and headed back toward the Manor. Jason was silent until they were out of the city, watching the boats in the harbor below as they crossed the bridge.  
  
"Alfred, what do you know about Lazarus pits?"  
  
Alfred thought back to when Damian was killed, the memories of Bruce trying to track down a Lazarus pit making his stomach turn. The fact Jason was asking about one now terrified him.  
  
“I know they have some sort of regenerative capabilities, but the scope of my knowledge is limited to that.” He looked at Jason, who was leaning on his arm and still staring out the window. “Why do you ask?”  
  
Jason was silent for a moment and Alfred could tell he was deep in thought. When they pulled up in front of the Manor he made no move to get out of the car and turned toward Jason, waiting patiently.  
  
“I came back different,” Jason finally answered, refusing to look at Alfred. “I came back… damaged. It makes me wonder if…” Jason stopped and shook his head. Before Alfred had a chance to say anything Jason opened the car door, glancing back over his shoulder.  
  
“Thanks for coming along.”  
  
Alfred was too stunned to reply with anything more than a nod and watched Jason disappear into the house. He had several questions for Bruce now, both about the Lazarus pits and why Jason would believe he was damaged. But perhaps the young man was on to something as far as the effects of the Lazarus pit were concerned. Could it be responsible for his illness or why he wasn’t responding to treatment?  
  
A short while later Jason sat on the patio overlooking Alfred's rose garden, a book forgotten on the table beside him. There was a squirrel climbing up and down an enormous oak tree, carrying acorns and burying them in the yard. The squirrel had been at it for nearly half an hour and buried at least a few dozen acorns in that time. With the chill in the air it made sense the little guy was preparing for winter. Overhead, ducks and geese were flying south toward warmer weather and he knew the deer out in the woods were fattening themselves to stay warm. He wondered if any of them thought at all about the future and what next spring would hold, or if they could only focus on the here and now, not worrying at all what next year would bring.  
  
A gust of wind moved through, sending leaves cascading to the ground and making Jason shiver slightly. He couldn't help but think about the fact that if he were a squirrel, he'd likely not be hoarding anything for next spring because he wasn't certain he'd still be around to retrieve them all, anyway.  
  
The wind gusted again. He grabbed his book and headed back toward the house. He hated getting cold so easily now; prior to all of this, he'd have been able to sit outside in this weather for much longer than forty-five minutes and barely notice the temperature.  
  
Instead of going upstairs to the room he'd been using since he left the hospital, he wandered down the hall into his old room. The door wasn't locked, and he opened the it slowly so the one hinge wouldn't creak and give him away. He'd tried to sneak out once when he was thirteen and that hinge busted him. Alfred caught him and promised not to tell Bruce if Jason helped with dishes for a month. He didn't try to sneak out again until Africa.  
  
The first thing he noticed was the curtains were open; the air smelled fresh and there was no dust on any of the furniture. It appeared that his room had been cleaned regularly and not packed up, at least not lately. The cynical part of him wondered if they hastily set things up again when they realized he was still alive.  
  
But when he looked around, he realized someone had been in here cleaning and that nothing had changed. Not really. The homework and books that were spread out chaotically across his desk that night he left for Africa were gone. But, knowing Alfred, they were likely in a drawer and neatly organized. The small plant he'd been tending to, once a small cutting Alfred gave him, was now nearly as large as the one in the study. Clearly it loved its spot next to the window overlooking the backyard. He had no doubt it would have died had he been around to try and take care of it, but since Alfred tended to it, it absolutely thrived.  
  
Much like everything else in this house.  
  
As he continued looking around, he realized it didn't freak him out, being in there. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he definitely didn't expect to feel so at home. Part of him wished they'd just gotten rid of everything because he was sure this room turned into a tomb or monument of some kind, if his Robin uniform down in the cave was any indication. But at the same time the fact his room was maintained close to how he left it meant that at least Alfred hoped he'd one day come back.  
  
But he felt guilty Alfred included this in his cleaning routine. Perhaps he'd have to move down into this room again, just to make things easier for him. One less room to clean. He'd have to think about it.  
  
Jason knelt next to the small bookshelf next to his desk and ran his fingers along the spines of his old textbooks. From what he could tell, most of them were still there. There were two from some college courses he'd been taking - organic chemistry and British Lit. The shelf below that was full of books Bruce made him read after he became Robin: criminology, psychology, more chemistry, forensic investigation. His fingers stopped when they came across the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes. Bruce gave that to him last and made up some ridiculous excuse that even though it was fiction, it was still important. Jason smiled at the memory; they'd both known it was a lie and that Bruce gave it to him simply because he knew Jason loved to read.  
  
He pulled the thick volume from the shelf and sat down on the bed, paging through it. Once upon a time he willingly spent  **hours**  reading and studying, trying to learn as much as he could. Immersing himself in all of that distracted him from how lonely he was, being the only kid in the Manor, or how intimidating it was living in a house that large when the largest placed he'd ever lived in was a one-bedroom flat in the shittiest part of Gotham.  
  
The part of himself that hadn't moved on from all of that, the part he didn't know how to process, was still in awe of how ironic it all was- that the tools and the knowledge that made him a good Robin were also the ones that got him killed. Without someone encouraging him to learn, giving him opportunities he never would have had otherwise, he may never have discovered his birth mother was out there. And because he felt he was so prepared after everything Bruce taught him, he took off after her thinking he could find the piece that would make his life complete.  
  
But the one thing he didn't have at the time that he could have used was Bruce's help. And he'd missed every red flag along the way because he was blinded by how badly he  **needed**  to find her.  
  
Jason shook his head and tossed the book aside. He didn't want to go down that road; he didn't want to get angry about something that happened so long ago. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand through his hair. When he opened his eyes, there was a clump of it between his fingers. It was one of the largest yet and he sighed. His eyes watered and he laid back on the bed.  
  
A moment later he felt the bed dip ever so slightly and he smiled. He hadn’t heard her come in, as usual, despite all the creaky floorboards in that house. But he knew who it was.  
  
“Long time, no see, Cass.”  
  
He opened his eyes to see her kneeling beside him, watching him. More specifically, she was staring at the tuft of hair still between his fingers. She leaned over and took it, pinching it together like a paint brush. Then she looked at him, her expression completely serious save for the slight twinkle in her eye, and she tickled the end of his nose with it.  
  
Jason smiled wider and sat up on the edge of the bed. He opened his arms and she climbed into his lap to hug him. He returned the hug as tightly as he could manage. She frowned when he didn’t squeeze as hard as he usually did. A few seconds later she sighed, her voice quiet and happy.  
  
“Backwards.”  
  
He chuckled.  
  
“Maybe. But there’s no way I’d fit in your lap.”  
  
The sound of knuckles on the door frame made him look up. Steph stood in the doorway, grinning and holding a bag in one hand.  
  
“I’d like to see you try, though.” She entered the room and draped her coat on the chair at his desk. “You know she could hold on to you.”  
  
Jason glanced down at Cass and she nodded before kneeling on the bed next to him again. That twinkle in her eye he’d noticed earlier was still there. He turned to Steph.  
  
“What’s in the bag?”  
  
She grinned and pulled out a clipper and a scissors.  
  
“When I talked to Tim the other day, I asked how you were, and he told me. Since it’s gonna fall out anyway, we thought you might want to shave it.”  
  
Jason eyed the clipper. Something about shaving it himself seemed strangely entertaining. He’d have some control over something, and that sounded like a great idea. He didn’t miss the mischievous glint in Steph’s eye.  
  
“What did you have in mind?”  
  
She looked at Cass, who simply grinned.  
  
“We have some ideas. You get to choose, of course.”  
  
Jason shrugged.  
  
“Show me what you got.”  
  
An hour later Steph turned off the clipper and stood back to admire her handiwork. Jason was sitting on a stool in the bathroom down the hall from his room, a towel around his shoulders. Cass was perched on the edge of the counter and held Steph's phone up next to Jason's face.  
  
"Too long on the left," Cass said. "Trim right there." She pointed to a spot just above Jason's ear and Steph stood in front of him, eyeing both sides.  
  
"Got it."  
  
Using the scissors, she trimmed it and looked over at Cass. She nodded in approval.  
  
"It looks good."  
  
Jason turned, and his eyes widened when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Along the top it was still thick and wavy like usual but trimmed only to clean it up a little. From there it faded quickly to a buzzcut down the sides and back. Cass ran her fingers through it, scattering the loose hair to the floor. Steph opened a small container of a waxy substance and rubbed it between her fingers before running her them gently along his scalp. She twisted and tugged a bit until Jason's hair was perfectly messed up.  
  
She looked at Cass and Cass smiled brightly. They high-fived each other and Jason stood up, leaning closer to the mirror.  
  
"This actually looks..." he frowned, tilting his head back and forth, "a little better than before."  
  
"That wasn't too hard, Jay," Steph teased. "But this way you can have some fun before the rest of it falls out. Mohawks are awesome when they're done right."  
  
"Thanks. This… this helps."  
  
Steph and Cass ducked under his arms and hugged him, the three of them staring at each other in the mirror.  
  
"Then it did what it was supposed to," Steph said.  
  
Jason's stomach growled, and Cass poked it.  
  
"Go eat, brother. We'll clean up."  
  
"Just save us some food, okay? Dick's here and was complaining about how he hadn't eaten all day."  
  
Jason went downstairs and heard commotion coming from the kitchen.  
  
"Master Dick, that candy is for trick-or-treaters. Leave it alone."  
  
"Sorry, Al."  
  
"As if you need more sugar today, Grayson." Damian's voice was surprisingly annoyed, considering who he was talking to. "When you inevitably crash on patrol, it'll be your own fault.  
  
Tim spoke up, nothing but snark in his tone.  
  
"Why don't you have some, Damian? Then when you crash later, we'll all get some peace and quiet."  
  
Even before he got to the doorway, Jason could hear Bruce sigh.  
  
"That's enough, all of you. Leave the candy alone and help finish setting the table, please."  
  
Jason walked into the kitchen and took a stack of plates from Alfred.  
  
"I got these."  
  
They all turned to look at him and Jason had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Dick dropped the packet of Skittles he was holding. Damian turned and his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. Tim tilted his head to the side, inspecting Jason's haircut before giving a nod of approval.  
  
Alfred just shook his head and smiled.  
  
"I see your sisters got a hold of you."  
  
Jason turned and headed toward the dining room.  
  
"Yeah, it was a good idea."  
  
Bruce stood and grabbed the silverware, following Jason.  
  
"It looks good on you."  
  
Jason focused on setting plates down at each spot at the table.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Bruce nodded and trailed after him to set silverware down next to each plate.  
  
"How did your appointment go today?"  
  
Jason dropped the last plate he was holding and Bruce leaned over, easily catching it. He pulled out two chairs and motioned for Jason to take a seat.  
  
"They're scheduling another round of chemo, but this time it'll be a stronger dose. I'm..." he stopped, staring at his hands. "I'm not responding much to the first round."  
  
Bruce pursed his lips and nodded.  
  
"Tim and I have been talking about that," he said. "I hope that's okay?"  
  
Jason sighed and shrugged one shoulder.  
  
"It's fine. He mentioned research that night we were all at the penthouse."  
  
"He's been talking with several researchers at S.T.A.R. labs and they're working on something that could help."  
  
Jason looked at Bruce, unable to hide his surprise. Tim entered the room and stopped next to Bruce's chair.  
  
"Dinner is nearly ready. Alfred sent me in to let you know."  
  
Bruce turned and looked up at Tim.  
  
"Can you fill Jason in on what you've found? I'm going to go make sure Alfred has enough help in the kitchen."  
  
Tim didn't sit down, choosing instead to stand behind Bruce's empty chair.  
  
"What did he tell you?"  
  
"Not much, just that you've been working with S.T.A.R. labs on something."  
  
Tim pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up some research.  
  
"If this second round of chemo doesn't help and you need the stem cell transplant, they've found a way to make that work."  
  
Jason frowned.  
  
"How? I have no biological relatives that I'm aware of. And they're the best chance of a match."  
  
"It's a complicated process and we can talk about it if we get to that point, but it shows some promise."  
  
Jason leaned back in his chair.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
Tim's head snapped up and he looked surprised.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Has anyone ever thought about the effects stuff like fear toxin, Joker's laughing gas or any of the number of crazy things we're exposed to would have on any of us?"  
  
Tim's eyes lit up and he sat down.  
  
"I have, actually, yeah. Joker's gas is a poison and fear toxin is more of a hallucinogen. But neither affect the body on a cellular level- they don't cause any kind of mutation."  
  
"I sense a 'but' coming."  
  
"But... the tests I've run up until now have only been run on blood that hasn't been in contact with the chemicals in a Lazarus pit."  
  
They made eye contact.  
  
"Like mine."  
  
Tim nodded.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Then before I start chemo again, do you want some samples to study?"  
  
Tim smiled.  
  
"We can get them before patrol later."  
  
They both looked toward the kitchen when they heard raucous laughter and Jason stood up.  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
As Tim stood up too, Jason paused, frowning.  
  
"There's one thing I don't understand, Tim," he said. "If Lazarus pits can theoretically grant eternal life, why would they also cause a mutation like cancer?"  
  
"Maybe that's one of the reasons Ra's has to visit one regularly?"  
  
Somewhere deep down Jason knew that wasn't the reason, but he chose to ignore it. He needed something good to hold onto and that wasn't helping.

* * *

 

Around four a.m. the entire group, save for Steph and Cass, returned from patrol. Jason was dozing in the chair by the computer and Alfred was prepping the med bay for any bumps or bruises. Jason ran the comms again and somehow was even more efficient with Dick, Steph and Cass added to the roster that night. Despite Halloween being a terrible night for their family in years past, tonight had been one of the better ones in a long time.  
  
The hum of the Batmobile's engine announced their arrival and Jason woke up, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Between the busy night, giving blood samples to Tim and just feeling run down, he felt like he'd been out patrolling alongside them.  
  
Dick and Tim's motorcycles followed the car into the cave and all at once, the four of them were approaching the med bay. Tim was limping but laughing with Dick about something. Dick had a nice shiner forming around his right eye, Damian had a scrape along his jawline and Bruce was favoring his left wrist. Jason glanced at Alfred.  
  
"I'll take Dick and Tim, you get Bruce and the kid?"  
  
Alfred nodded and motioned for Damian and Bruce to follow him.  
  
"We're fine, Jay. You should get to bed," Dick said, peeling off his domino.  
  
Jason rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.  
  
"Okay,  _mom_. But first, have a seat so I can look both of you over."  
  
Tim had already climbed onto a bed and propped his knee up.  
  
"I only need some ice. This is just a sprain- I got jumped from above."  
  
Jason handed him an ice pack and before Tim could drape it over his leg, Jason ran his hands along Tim's knee, checking for swelling or anything out of place. Satisfied, he turned to Dick.  
  
"Who managed to clock you hard enough to make your eye swell shut, Dickie?"  
  
Dick snorted and allowed Jason to check him over.  
  
"A college kid hopped up on PCP. And to make it worse he was dressed like Mister Rogers."  
  
Jason laughed and carefully felt around Dick's eye with his thumb. There were no tender spots, and nothing seemed to be broken. He handed Dick a smaller ice pack and wrapped himself in a blanket again. The three of them looked across the way to see Alfred cleaning the wound on Damian's chin.  
  
"What happened to Damian?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure, but I do know that Nygma came out of that confrontation  _much_  worse," Dick answered.  
  
Jason and Tim looked at each other and Tim grinned.  
  
"Nygma did have it coming."  
  
Jason watched Bruce try not to wince as he removed his glove and gauntlet.  
  
"And the old man?"  
  
Tim answered this time.  
  
"One of Dent's guys came at him with a crowbar. The break-in at a jewelry store in Old Gotham."  
  
Jason approached Bruce, watching as he rotated his wrist and flexed it several times.  
  
"Anything broken, or is it bruised?"  
  
Bruce didn't look up and allowed Jason to inspect his arm.  
  
"Nothing broken, no- just deep bruising. It hit the gap in the Kevlar."  
  
"Want me to wrap it?"  
  
Bruce shook his head.  
  
"Not yet, no. But thank you."  
  
"Bruce? Jason? Can you come over here for a minute?"  
  
They turned to see Tim sitting at the computer console. Bruce frowned.  
  
"Tim, it's late. You should all be getting to bed."  
  
Jason looked at Bruce warily before turning away and walking up behind Tim. Dick was already standing there.  
  
"What's this?" Dick asked.  
  
"I had the computer going through any available information about Lazarus pit chemicals," Tim replied. "After our conversation earlier, Jason, I had some questions."  
  
Bruce was now standing between Dick and Jason, and Alfred was listening intently from where he was still cleaning up Damian's face. Tim frowned and turned in his chair.  
  
"We were wondering why something with such vast healing and regenerative properties would also cause drastic cell mutation, like Jason's cancer."  
  
Bruce stepped forward and started reading what was on the screen.  
  
"What did you find?" Jason asked. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest.  
  
Before any of them could reply, Damian gently pushed Alfred's hand away from his face and spoke up.  
  
"He found absolutely nothing supporting that ridiculous hypothesis," he said. "That's not how Lazarus pits work. I could have easily told you that."  
  
Bruce looked at Tim and Tim nodded.  
  
"He's right."  
  
"Of course I'm right, Drake. From a very young age, my grandfather taught me how the pit kept him alive and restored him." He remained seated on the table, hands folded neatly in his lap. "At its heart the way the pit works is simple. It resets the host's cells, like turning a clock back. It doesn't rewire or change anything about the genetic material of the person who went in. If a certain mutation was already there, exposure to the pit wouldn't change it or correct it. It can only restore damage that has already happened, not what has yet to occur."  
  
"But that's a good thing, isn't it?" Dick asked. "It means that Jason's cancer is something conventional medicine can treat, because it wasn't caused by the chemicals he was exposed to."  
  
"Dick, you aren't listening," Tim said quietly.  
  
"What did I miss?" Dick looked down at Tim. "This sounds like good news."  
  
"The pit didn't cause this to happen," Jason said, his voice barely audible above the commotion. "It just slowed down the time frame of  _when_  it would happen."  
  
"What does that mean?" Dick asked, looking from Tim and Bruce over to Jason.  
  
"It means I was always gonna get cancer anyway."  
  
He turned and headed toward the stairs, leaving stunned silence in his wake. As soon as he was gone, Alfred spoke.  
  
"That explains why he was asking about Lazarus pits on our way home from his appointment."  
  
Bruce spun on his heel.  
  
"What? What did he ask you?"  
  
"He wanted to know what I knew about them," Alfred said. He was focused on putting away the supplies in front of him. "I think Master Jason was wondering if the pit was to blame for his current illness."  
  
"It's not to blame for his current one, no," Damian clarified. He was still seated on the bed, helping Alfred clean up. "But that's what was responsible for his behavior when he came back."  
  
Tim raised an eyebrow and Dick went over to sit next to Damian.  
  
"Care to elaborate, D?"  
  
"Surely you aren't so old you don't remember that he shot me in the chest and stabbed Drake with a rusty batarang?" Damian asked. "While I don't know what happened to him before he died, based on his reaction when he came back, it must have been incredibly traumatic. Grandfather only came back that psychotic when he'd been mortally wounded in battle."  
  
Bruce sighed. The fact Damian knew so much first-hand bothered him even to this day.  
  
"So what you're saying is that Jason's behavior when he came back to Gotham wasn't because there was something wrong, but a result of how he died and was resurrected?"

Damian shrugged, clearly irked at the over-simplification of his explanation.  
  
"More or less, that's correct. Without proper preparation, training and support for after you go in, it takes months or  _years_  to get back to normal. His disease, while tragic in its own right, has no explanation other than it would have happened anyway."  
  
Tim closed the research on the computer screen and slumped in his chair.  
  
"So there's nothing we can develop to treat him, other than what modern medicine already has to offer."  
  
They all looked at each other, trying to wrap their heads around the idea they were all so out of their depth with something so incredibly...  
  
Ordinary.

* * *

 

Two days later Jason checked into Gotham General's oncology wing for his second round of chemo.  
  
Five days after that he was in the intensive care unit, sedated and trying to fight off a nasty infection. With his immune system nearly depleted it didn't take much for his body to be overwhelmed.

Bruce relieved Alfred late that afternoon and would stay until the nurses or a doctor kicked him out. The ICU had strict rules about visitors, and no one was willing to bend them, even for the hospital's main benefactor.  
  
There was no change in Jason's condition that afternoon, other than his fever was slowly coming down as the third antibiotic they tried started to take effect. Doctor Matthews stopped in and informed Bruce that Jason had been dangerously close to needing a ventilator at one point, to try and give his body a rest while it fought the infection. But once they found the right antibiotic, he'd turned the corner.  
  
At precisely eight p.m. the charge nurse poked her head into the room and kindly informed Bruce he had to leave for the night.  
  
"You have my cell number in case something changes, I assume?"  
  
The nurse nodded.  
  
"We have your cell, Alfred Pennyworth's cell and the number for your residence, Mister Wayne. I promise we'll call if something happens."  
  
Bruce slumped in the chair and scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. He hadn't slept in two days.  
  
"I'm sorry. We're just scared."  
  
She smiled and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.  
  
"It's alright, I understand. But he's in excellent hands tonight- I promise."  
  
He stood and gently squeezed Jason's hand before leaning down and whispering into his ear.  
  
"Goodnight, Jaylad. Alfred will be by in the morning."  
  
With a grateful smile, he brushed past the nurse and left the hospital.  
  
About halfway through his patrol later that night, he sat on the rooftop of a newly-finished apartment building in the Diamond District. It was an uneventful night thus far and his mind wandered to what happened a year ago in this very building before construction was finished. He wasn't here when it happened; he arrived just in time to find the Joker in a dumpster, bleeding and broken, and Jason nowhere to be found. That night Jason was in charge of monitoring the Diamond District after a breakout at Arkham. But what happened in between was still a mystery.  
  
_Bruce arrived at Jason's safe house, pounding on the door. Jason answered moments later and moved much slower than usual._  
_  
"What happened, Jason?" he demanded. He stalked into the living room and turned around._  
_  
"Hello to you too, Bruce," Jason muttered. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."_  
_  
"Did you try to kill him?"_  
_  
Jason's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, glinting furiously in the low afternoon light._  
_  
"I'm surprised you waited two days to break my door down to ask me that," he answered. "But no, I didn't try to kill him. I don't know what happened."_  
_  
"He's in a coma! His skull was fractured, three vertebrae were crushed, and he was hit in the chest so violently, half his ribs are fractured."_  
_  
Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the back of his couch._  
_  
"I can't say I feel bad for the guy. He did much worse to me, remember?" Jason could taste the venom in his words but couldn't stop them from coming. "How many bones did you break when you put him in a body cast for six months three years ago, hmm?"_  
_  
Bruce shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to calm down._  
_  
"We're not talking about me," he said. "I want to know what happened that night."_  
_  
Jason laughed bitterly._  
_  
"Of course, it doesn't matter. 'Do as I say, not as I do', I guess, huh?" He looked up at Bruce, pain replacing the anger from moments before. "I don't remember what happened. I was following a lead that brought me to that building. I got jumped from behind and woke up in an alley like, eight blocks away."_  
_  
They stared at each other for a few moments, tension hanging heavy and thick between them._  
_  
"You didn't even set up a crime scene, did you?"_  
_  
Bruce's gaze snapped from the floor in front of him to Jason's face._  
_  
" **What**  did you just say?"_  
_  
"If you'd set up a crime scene and bothered to take a look, you wouldn't be here right now demanding answers. You'd already have them!" Jason cried, his voice getting louder. "You would have been able to tell what happened the moment you walked in!"_  
_  
Bruce's mouth twitched and Jason knew he'd hit a nerve. Taking a chance, he continued._  
_  
"You think that since I was in charge of that quadrant and the Joker nearly died, I was automatically the one to do it." Jason backed up a few steps and leaned against the wall, a hand covering his right side. "Do you think I have such a hard-on for revenge that I'd try to go after the guy who murdered me despite the fact I panic every time I'm on the same block he is?"_  
_  
"This wouldn't be the first time..." Bruce started. He immediately pursed his lips together, swallowing the rest of that sentence._  
_  
Jason flinched like he'd been slapped. He clenched his jaw and looked down at the floor._  
_  
"Again, we’re back to the diplomat."_  
_  
Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, his anger deflating._  
_  
"No, that's not what I..."_  
_  
"Well. I see where I stand. Fine. I killed the diplomat and I tried to kill the Joker. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? Once a hot head, always a hot head?"_  
_  
He pushed off the wall and stalked past Bruce, slamming his bedroom door. Bruce followed and stopped outside the door, hand ready to knock. A moment later the door opened suddenly, and Jason was wearing his leather jacket and carrying a large duffel bag. Bruce backed up and put his hand down._  
_  
"You need to leave Gotham."_  
_  
"Fuck you, Bruce."_  
_  
"I want you to leave the city, Jason. Clearly Gotham isn't good for you and you'd be better off somewhere else."_  
_  
Jason didn't say a word for a moment, his green eyes boring into Bruce's face. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, clipped and eerily calm._  
_  
"If I wanted the Joker dead and were actually capable of it? He **would**  be," Jason said. He gingerly lifted the bag's strap over his head. "The worst part? Not only do  **you**  think I did it, so do Dick and Tim. Nothing but radio silence from them." Then he grinned viciously. "But I have a feeling Damian is happy about it. Chances are he would have done it eventually, anyway." _  
_  
Jason grabbed a smaller bag from the closet in the entry way and paused in front of the door._  
_  
"If you ever bother going back to the crime scene," he said, "you'd find the answers you need. But knowing you like I do, you won't go back because you'll have to face the fact someone else has done what neither of us has been able to, and that's putting a stop to that fucking lunatic."_  
_  
Jason slammed the door and it rattled on its hinges, the noise echoing in the empty apartment._  
_  
It was then Bruce realized the colossal mistake he'd made._

Bruce knew the night Jason left he should have gone back to the building where the Joker was found and looked around; he should have done that the night it happened. Deep down he knew Jason hadn't pushed him and why he couldn't come to terms with that, he wasn't sure. But the thought that someone without a history with him would go so far as to break the Joker out of Arkham just to push him out a window seemed ridiculous.  
  
When it came to the Joker and all of the trauma he'd inflicted on his entire family, it was all Bruce could do not to snap and break his neck or drop him from the rooftop of Arkham onto the rocks in the harbor below. As he sat on the rooftop and stared down at the city below, he made a vow to himself to find out what happened that night.  
  
He owed it to Jason to apologize and get the facts straight.

* * *

 

Almost two weeks later, Jason was discharged and allowed to go home. He was weak enough to need a wheelchair to get from his room to the front entrance and he fell asleep the moment Alfred pulled away from the curb.  
  
Dick sat up front with Alfred, making small talk while Bruce sat in the back beside Jason. The rest of his hair had fallen out, so he took to wearing hats to keep warm. He'd lost even more weight; when they weighed him yesterday, he was down over forty pounds from when he first got sick. A week ago, they'd had to resort to tube feeding since Jason couldn't eat anything on account of the mouth sores.  
  
Bruce sighed and wrapped his arm around Jason, careful not to squeeze too hard. Since he woke up in the ICU, everything hurt and even having his blood pressure checked was painful. There was a jolt and Jason groaned, burying his face in Bruce's coat.  
  
"Sorry, Master Jason. There was a pothole I couldn't avoid," Alfred said, glancing in the mirror.  
  
"M'fine, Alfred. Not your fault."  
  
Dick made eye contact with Bruce in the rear-view mirror and he frowned in concern.  
  
"Are you up for watching a movie when we get home, Jaybird? We've got everything set up in the den if you want."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Great," Dick replied. "I'll text Tim and let him know."  
  
When they got home Bruce woke Jason with a gentle squeeze.  
  
"Jason? We're home."  
  
He opened his eyes and slowly sat up, struggling to push his door open. He swung his legs out and started to stand up when Dick appeared with a wheelchair from the trunk.  
  
"Here," he said quietly. "This'll be easier for you right now."  
  
"I can walk, you ass," Jason muttered.  
  
"Yeah, you can. But we'd prefer if you didn't get two steps before you faceplant."  
  
Dick gave him a pointed look and Jason sighed in defeat.  
  
"Fine."  
  
Dick helped him stand and get into the wheelchair before pushing him into the house. He pushed Jason toward the den. Jason could hear Tim and Damian debating whether to watch  _Wonder Woman_  because Jason adored her, or the most recent _Star Trek_  movie since he was also a sci-fi nerd. The thought of having to pretend everything was fine overwhelmed him and he began to panic.  
  
"Dick, stop."  
  
Dick immediately stopped and looked down.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I... I wanna go upstairs. Please. Take me upstairs," Jason whispered.  
  
"I'm gonna go get Bruce, okay? Just a sec."  
  
Dick pushed Jason to the bottom of the staircase and disappeared down the hall. He came back a moment later with Bruce in tow.  
  
"Let's get you upstairs, Jay, so you can rest."  
  
Bruce and Dick stood on either side of the wheelchair and Jason locked the brakes. He tried to stand, and his legs gave way almost immediately. Jason bit back a sob of exhaustion and frustration, and Dick and Bruce made eye contact. Dick nodded and disappeared, leaving Bruce kneeling beside Jason.  
  
"I'm going to carry you upstairs, okay? Just this once?"  
  
Jason looked at Bruce, his eyes glassy with tears.  
  
"No, I can.. let me..."  
  
Bruce shook his head and wiped a tear from Jason's cheek with his thumb.  
  
"You've been through a lot lately, chum. It'll stay between you and me; the boys are in the den and Alfred's busy."  
  
Jason sucked in a shaky breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  
  
"Okay," he whispered. "Just do it."  
  
Bruce stood and gently picked Jason up, carrying him up the stairs. At the top he started to turn left when Jason shook his head.  
  
"No, take me to my room."  
  
Bruce stopped and looked at him, curious at his sudden change of heart.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"It makes no sense for him to be cleaning both rooms," Jason answered. "It's okay, really."  
  
They turned right instead of left and Bruce nudged Jason's door open with his foot. Jason's breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. Alfred was making his bed with newly-washed sheets and someone had set up a flat screen TV and gaming console at the foot of the bed so he wouldn't have to get up if he didn't want to. There was a pile of get-well and welcome home cards on the table next to the bed and a stack of paperbacks next to those.  
  
Alfred looked up from the bed and smiled.  
  
"It's nice to have you home again, Master Jason. Your brothers have been busy these last few days making sure you had a comfortable place to come home to."  
  
Bruce set Jason down next to the bed. Jason took off his shoes, then undressed to a t-shirt and boxers before crawling in. Bruce helped him prop himself up until he was comfortable.  
  
"Everything you need is right here," Alfred said, gesturing to the rolling table next to the bed. "If you need anything else, call your father or me and we'll bring it to you." He laid his hand against Jason's cheek. "Anything at all."  
  
"Thanks, Alfred."  
  
"Of course, my dear boy."  
  
Alfred left and Bruce stood next to the bed, watching Jason get comfortable.  
  
"Was it too much having everyone home?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Bruce sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"We don't mean to smother you, but we were pretty scared for a while. You were sedated for almost a week."  
  
Jason looked away, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks.  
  
"Jason, look at me," he said softly.  
  
He turned his head and barely managed to look at Bruce.  
  
"Please don't feel bad about that. What I meant was that they were excited to see you and spend time with you. But I also know you've had doctors and nurses harassing you constantly these last few weeks, so I get that you might want some space."  
  
Jason's mouth quirked into a smile, but he didn't say anything.  
  
"I figured. So, don't hesitate to tell us you need time to yourself, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"We'll be downstairs if you need anything. Get some rest and I'll check in with you a bit later."  
  
As soon as he had the room to himself, Jason's smile disappeared, and the tears returned. He pulled the duvet over his head and buried his face in his pillow. Everything hurt, he couldn't even walk by himself and he was completely unrecognizable when he looked in the mirror. He was starting to wonder why he'd ever agreed to any of this in the first place, especially since this round was infinitely worse than the first one.  
  
If this didn't work he wasn't so sure he wanted to take the next step and go through with the stem cell transplant, considering he'd need even more chemo for that. But how do you tell your family you don't want to keep going? How do you tell them you want to give up? That dying again seems like the better option?  
  
He hoped he wouldn't have to find out, but he couldn't deny how terrified he was that it might come to that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random fun fact: I'd been researching hairstyles for Jason and kept gravitating toward the fade-thing Jensen Ackles has going on sometimes, where it's really short on the sides and slightly longer at the top. I /almost/ added a joke about it, but it felt forced so I cut it. :)


	8. When it rains, it pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll get it, Alfred!” Dick hollered from the hallway.  
> He rushed down the stairs and sprinted across the foyer, throwing the door open. His eyes widened.  
> Standing outside in the snow was a panicked and breathless Roy Harper.  
> “Is Jason okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! I'm back! 
> 
> I offer my sincerest apologies for such a long wait. I'm a full-time student for the first time in over a decade, so between that, some writer's block due to changes in the plot, and life just being difficult? I hadn't had a chance to finish this chapter.
> 
> I couldn't figure out where to end this one, so it's another lengthy one that's also pretty dialogue-heavy. I blame two characters returning for that, since they made themselves at home and didn't care to leave.

Several days later, Jason woke up to Alfred opening the curtains and Dick setting a tray on his bedside table. The moment Dick noticed he was awake, he smiled brightly. 

“Rise and shine!”

Jason groaned and rolled over, dragging the duvet over his head. He wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Bruce and Tim went to work a little while ago and I just got back from dropping Damian at school.” 

He listened as Dick’s voice moved about the room, accompanied by the sounds of a table being dragged and silverware rattling against dishes. Jason ignored him and tried to get comfortable again. He hadn’t slept well because he’d been queasy most of the night, and on top of that, he just couldn’t get comfortable, so he’d tossed and turned. The bed beside him dipped and he carefully pushed back the duvet. A pair of concerned blue eyes, paired with a frown, stared back at him. 

“Alfred made us breakfast. Think you can try to eat something?”  

He caught the scent of scrambled eggs and his stomach growled loudly. Dick’s eyes brightened and he sat up. Jason shoved the blankets back, hauling himself upright.  

“Master Jason, would you like to stay in bed, or would you like to sit here by the window?” 

Jason looked outside and saw a light snow falling. A change in scenery might be nice, even if it was just across the room. 

“I think I’ll get up.” 

Before he could ask, Dick handed him a pair of grey flannel pants and a black hoodie. Jason nodded a thank-you and slowly got dressed, self-consciously tugging a grey beanie over his head. As he stood up, Dick gave him space but watched him carefully. He wobbled his first few steps but didn’t lose his balance. He glanced down at his feet and frowned.  
  
“I’ll leave you boys to your breakfast.” Alfred headed for the door, glancing at Dick and raising an eyebrow. Dick gave a curt nod. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

Alfred turned and smiled at Jason. 

“You’re certainly welcome.” 

Dick uncovered the tray of food and took a seat in one of the armchairs as Jason sat across from him. As soon as he was seated, Jason looked down at his feet again and flexed his ankles and toes. Something didn’t feel right. It was like he couldn’t feel his feet, like they weren't even there. Dick noticed Jason’s confused expression as he poured himself some coffee.  
  
“It’s called peripheral neuropathy. It’s a side effect of the chemo. Most of the time, it goes away once you’re done with treatment.” 

Jason glanced up at him and didn't bother to hide his surprise. It was one of the side effects Leslie warned him about, but he didn’t expect Dick to recognize it. 

“And you know this how?” 

Dick didn’t answer, focusing instead on dishing up food. On Jason’s side of the table, there was a small dish of oatmeal, another of scrambled eggs, what appeared to be a fruit smoothie, and a small bottle of a meal replacement drink. Dick’s tray consisted of an omelet, some fruit, and wheat toast with grape jelly.   
  
“I don’t expect you to eat everything, but I thought some of this would be easier because of how sensitive your mouth is,” he said quietly, still avoiding an answer to Jason’s question. “The meal replacement shake actually isn’t bad. Certainly better than the tube feeding, anyway.” 

Jason leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.  

“I’m not touching any of it until you answer my question. How do you know all of this?” 

Dick bit into a piece of toast before he answered, and he still didn’t look at him. 

“Would you believe I’ve done some reading?” 

Jason shook his head, eyeing Dick skeptically. 

“Nope. Between the food, how you always seem to know when I’m gonna feel the worst, you _knew_ my balance would be shitty  _and_ you know what it’s called? It’s more than you just 'doing some reading’.” 

Dick drained half his glass of orange juice and sat back in his chair. He sighed as he met Jason’s expectant stare. 

“Someone I knew a long time ago went through something similar. She had a lot of trouble with her balance and could only eat a few things after she had chemo.” 

Jason had no idea what to say, so he reached for a spoon and tried some oatmeal. The expression on Dick’s face meant there was more information coming, you just had to wait for him to get it out. Dick picked up his fork and cut into his omelet, once again avoiding any eye contact. 

“Her name was Nora. I met her at Gotham Academy.”  

Dick watched as Jason pushed the oatmeal away with a grimace and tried the scrambled eggs. The texture was awful; the thick, pasty consistency aggravated his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

“Like you, she was stubborn and independent,” he continued. ”But she’d let me help just as long as I tried to eat the same stuff she had to.” He smiled and nodded at the meal replacement shake. “Those were her favorite, though I despised the strawberry one.” 

“Strawberry flavoring tastes so fake,” Jason said, picking it up and studying the label. His was chocolate, thank god.

“Exactly!” Dick finally smiled and finished the last bite of his omelet. “That’s what I always tried to tell her, but she loved it.” 

Jason shook the bottle and opened it, taking a drink. He was expecting chalky and disgusting but was surprised to find it tasted more like chocolate milk.  

“It’s good, right?” Dick asked. “I still drink those when I get hit in the face and my jaw is too sore to eat.” 

Jason shrugged, his mind reeling at Dick opening up about this, and being interested in taking care of him.

“It’s not bad.” He looked at Dick, who was now staring out the window. His demeanor had rapidly shifted back toward melancholy. “Sounds like you and Nora were close.” 

Dick nodded, smiling wistfully.

“Yeah. She was my best friend. We had a lot in common. Her parents were gone, and she was an only child.” 

Jason put down the empty bottle and pushed the plate away, feeling full for the first time in weeks. He hadn’t missed Dick’s continued use of the past tense when talking about her, and since he seemed to be in a sharing mood, he decided to ask some questions. But before he could say anything, Dick began talking again. 

“You would have liked her. She was a bit of a smartass. She loved to read.” He trailed off, staring down at his hands in his lap. “And she always had to have the last word. She would have liked your morbid death jokes, I think.” 

The silence that settled between them was deafening. Jason could tell Dick was uncomfortable, but the fact he hadn’t got up and left meant he was still willing to talk about her. 

“Did she know?” Jason asked.

“About what?”

“You being Robin.”

Dick laughed softly and nodded.

“She figured it out much like Tim did, I think. She was at the circus one night with the kids from her orphanage and saw my quad somersault. Later, we were in some of the same classes. When she saw me screwing around on the high bar in the gym, she knew.”

“If you weren’t such a show-off…” Jason trailed off, grinning into his water glass.

“Sure. Laugh it up, Little Wing.”

The room grew quiet again as Dick got lost in his memories. Jason didn’t want to disturb him, but he needed to know what happened to her.

“What did she have?”  

“Bone cancer.” 

“And I assume since this is the first time I’ve heard of her, she’s gone.” 

Dick nodded, biting his bottom lip.  

“Yeah. August before sophomore year.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks.” 

Before their conversation could continue, there was a frantic pounding on the front door downstairs and the doorbell rang repeatedly. They frowned at each other as Dick stood up. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Jason nodded and started clearing the food, putting the plates and glasses back on the tray.

“I’ll get it, Alfred!” Dick hollered from the hallway. He rushed down the stairs and sprinted across the foyer, throwing the door open. His eyes widened. 

Standing outside in the snow was a panicked and breathless Roy Harper. 

“Is Jason okay?”

Roy pushed past him into the house and shook snow from his hair. Dick shut the door and tugged Roy toward the study.

“Dick, come on. You know I was off-world for a couple of months, and I’ve now been awake and traveling for days. I’m too tired for this. Just tell me.”

Dick closed the door to the study.

“He’s alive and finished a second round of chemo the other day.”

Roy sighed and collapsed into a nearby chair, his head dropping into his hands.

“Thank god.”

Dick perched on the arm of the couch across from him, running a hand through his hair. Roy shrugged out of his coat and yanked his scarf from his neck. His hair was sticking up wildly, his shirt was wrinkled and the bags beneath his eyes were close to having bags of their own. He looked like Dick felt.

“Where is he? I want to go see him.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Roy snapped his head up and glared.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m the only one who noticed something was wrong in the first place, and you have the balls to say that? To me, of all people?”

Dick held his hands up and sighed.

“That’s not what I meant. What I _should_ have said was are you sure it’s a good idea to see him after being off-world? His immune system is practically non-existent right now.”

Roy relaxed again and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Oh, right. I was quarantined for a couple of days and looked over by the League doctors. I’m good.”

Dick nodded and slid down to sit on the couch. Roy leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his massive shoulders hunched.

“You okay? You look like death warmed over.”

Dick chuckled humorlessly and shook his head.

“I kinda feel that way. But it’s nothing compared to what he’s going through. This has all been so hard on him.”

“Alright, then catch me up.”

Dick closed his eyes and his head dropped back.

“I’m scared to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t texted me.”

Roy nodded, but said nothing, so Dick continued talking.

“I went to his place that night and after talking to Jay, it turned out Bruce had been following him for quite some time because he figured something might be wrong. We thought about trying to force him to see a doctor, but we knew that wouldn’t work.”

Roy rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think there’s anyone alive who can _make_ him do anything. Even Artemis failed and she’s about the only one besides Clark or Diana who could physically handle him.”

“My thoughts, exactly. He tried to tell me he was fine and that we all should leave him alone, though deep down, I knew better.” Dick shifted on the couch, curling his legs beneath him. “A few nights later, he was shot by a sniper Two-Face hired and then beaten up before he got back to his safe house. Thankfully Bruce and Damian were nearby, and Tim had already taken down the sniper.”

Dick glanced up at Roy in time to see his face redden and his jaw clench.

“This city… he never should have come back here.”

“I know, Roy. But it wasn’t as serious as it sounds. Tim patched him up and sat with him until he woke up, finally getting him to agree to see a doctor.”

“Pass along my thanks to Tim. That kid is a bit of a miracle worker.”

“Yeah, he really is,” Dick said quietly. “I’m not sure exactly what happened between that night and the next time I saw Jason, but I found him on top of Wayne Tower after he’d cleared out his safe house and cut off all communication. That’s when he told me what was wrong.”

“How bad is it, Dick?”

The quiet tone of Roy’s voice was unnerving, and Dick looked up to see Roy’s green eyes boring a hole in the floor. The expression on his face was one of fear, something he rarely saw in Roy.

“We don’t know yet. He didn’t respond well to the first round of chemo, and we’re waiting to see how the second one worked.”

“How’s he coping?”

Dick curled in on himself even further.

“God, Roy... he was prepared to do treatment all by himself. He seems surprised that we want to help him. And he keeps trying to push us away.”

“Not to be an asshole, but after what happened the _last_ time he was in town? I don’t blame him for wanting nothing to do with some of you. Bruce especially.”

Dick pursed his lips and sighed, resting his forehead on his knees. When he lifted his head a few minutes later, his eyes were red and watering.

“That’s the problem, Roy. None of us really _know_ what happened. Bruce won’t talk about it and when I ask Jason, he tells me to fuck off. All I know is that the Joker almost died, and Bruce apparently blames Jason.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Jason has his fair share of problems. We all do. But a lot of his stem from experiences with this city and this family.”

Roy’s comment touched a nerve and Dick looked like he was ready to break down.

“Did he talk to you about what happened that night?”

Roy shook his head.

“Look. I didn’t come here to make you feel like an ass. That’s for you guys to sort out. I just want to see my best friend. Would you tell me where he is?”

“Answer my question and I will.”

“That’s kinda low, even for you, Grayson. You know this is none of my business.”

“Do you want to see him, or not?”

Roy narrowed his eyes and his posture shifted from exhaustion to anger, his upper body tense and ready to fight.

“Yes, Jason told me what he remembers from that night, which isn’t a lot. But there’s so much more to the story than what Bruce _thinks_ he knows, based on the injuries I had to patch up and who helped me with that, but again. That’s not for me to share.”

Roy stood and looked down at him. Dick had sunken even deeper into the couch somehow.

“He’s upstairs in his old room. We managed to talk him into recuperating here, so he wouldn’t be alone if there were complications.”

Without a word, Roy turned and left, quietly closing the door to the study behind him. He crossed the foyer and glanced at the top of the stairs before taking them two a time.

* * *

Jason stood by the window and watched the snow continue to fall, thinking hard about the time he’d just spent bonding with Dick. Since the night he’d told Dick what was wrong with him, Dick seemed to be one step ahead. He was always ready with crackers or ginger ale when Jason was trying not to be sick, or he’d appear with a wheelchair out of nowhere when Jason started getting tired. Food that was easiest for him to eat was always available, though he’d chalked that up to Alfred at first. But when he thought about it, he realized Dick had been the one behind his meal preparation, treatment schedule and family time.

He shook his head and sighed. He knew Dick thought of him like a brother because he constantly said as much. And when he considered how much Tim had helped him lately, for no reason other than he simply wanted to, he realized how much he wanted and needed to feel that sense of belonging. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was beginning to realize he might have been wrong. Maybe he  _was_  still a member of this family, even if Bruce disagreed. The enormity of what that meant sent his heart racing, but his panicked thoughts were interrupted by footsteps pounding down the hall toward his room. 

“What’s the emergency, Dickhead? Did you...” 

He turned to see Roy standing in the doorway, his chest heaving. He looked a little like a train wreck, between his weary expression and rumpled clothes, but the moment his eyes met Jason’s, Roy’s face melted into a genuine smile and the tenseness in his shoulders disappeared. 

“ _Christ_ , Jaybird. Anyone ever tell you it’s not very nice to leave a voicemail message like that?” 

Jason’s vision blurred with tears as he laughed, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and shrugging. 

“When have I ever had any manners, Harper?” 

Roy crossed the room and engulfed him in a crushing hug.

“Based on your message, I thought I’d be too late,” Roy said quietly. Jason closed his eyes,

“Nah, I’d have held on until you got back, if only to tell you that you don’t get any of my stuff.”

Roy let go and threw his head back, laughing. He held Jason at arms-length and studied him.

“Well, despite losing your hair, you haven’t lost your sick, twisted sense of humor.”

Jason grinned.

“You know I’m too stubborn for that.”

* * *

Bruce and Tim arrived home after a day of budget meetings and went straight for the kitchen. There, they found Dick staring into a bowl of mushy Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Tim pulled an energy drink from the fridge and took a seat across from Dick, while Bruce leaned against the island beside him.

“Dick? Are you okay?”

Dick pushed the bowl away, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, I guess. Roy is here visiting Jason."

He felt Bruce stiffen and looked up at him.

“What happened that night? Between Jason and the Joker?”

Bruce squeezed Dick’s shoulder and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“I’m not in the mood to talk about that,” he replied. “I’ll be in my office working on some paperwork.”

Dick glared after him and shook his head.

“Like usual,” he muttered.

Tim cracked open his can and took a sip.

“What prompted _that_?”

“Roy said Jason was injured that night, but he won’t tell me how or what happened.”

“Why not?”

Dick went and dumped his soggy cereal into the disposal in the sink.

“Apparently it’s not his place, since it’s a family thing,” he said, his sarcastic tone lacking any heat whatsoever.

Tim took another drink and shrugged.

“I can see why he wouldn’t want to get involved,” he said. “Would _you_ want to get into that mess?”

“No, not really.”

Before either of them could say anything more, Alfred entered with a bag full of produce and set it on the counter in front of Tim.

“Master Tim, you’re in charge of the produce. Master Dick? You’re in charge of the dry goods.”

Dick gave him a mock-salute and began unloading a second bag when Roy entered.

“Hey, guys. I’m heading out.”

The three of them turned, with Alfred circling the island and shaking Roy’s hand.

“Thank you for coming to visit him. He’s needed the company lately.”

Roy nodded and smiled.

“I needed it, too. And anytime he needs a ride to an appointment or you need someone for babysitting duty, I’m around, alright? I’m either in town or in Star City until he’s better.”

“That’s very much appreciated, Master Harper. Thank you.”

“How’s he doing?” Dick asked, fidgeting with a bag of dried beans.

Rug zipped up his coat and wound his scarf around his neck.

“All things considered, I think he’s okay. He said his doctors have been really nice and being somewhere familiar is helping.”

“I sense a but coming,” Tim muttered. Dick glared at him and Roy smirked at the exchange.

“Like I told you earlier, Dick. There’s something about this city that’s not good for him. He runs himself ragged while he’s here. Whether it’s to try and stop all crime, or prove himself worthy, I’m not sure.”

Dick, Tim and Alfred all went quiet.

“Look, I’m not blaming any of you for anything. You’re exactly what he needs right now. But whatever’s going on with him and Bruce? It needs to be dealt with before Jason does something he can’t come back from.” He clapped a hand on Dick’s forearm and squeezed. “But he’s with people who care about him, and I know he’ll be okay here.”

“Thanks, Roy,” Dick said. “For everything.”

“Hey, you were there when I needed you, even if I hated what you had to say,” Roy said with a grin. “I needed the ass-kicking.”

Once he left, Dick and Tim looked at each other and sighed. Alfred glanced at the clock and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, boys. It’s time to make some dinner.”

* * *

Bruce sat in his study, unable to focus on anything other than Jason’s room down the hall. He knew he’d never get anything done before patrol, so put everything away and padded down the hall. The door was open and he knocked on the frame.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“It’s your house,” Jason answered. He was wrapped in a blanket and tucked into a chair by the window, a worn paperback in his hands.

“It’s your house, too.”

Jason shrugged and closed the book.

“What did you need?”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward.

“I’m wondering if you’ve had a chance to look over the treatment schedule for physical therapy, the appointments for the dietitian and the dentist, and the lab appointments.”

Jason nodded toward the planner on the bed next to Bruce.

“It’s all in there. And while it’s a ridiculously busy schedule, I think it’ll work.”

He flipped through the pages, noting that everything was color-coded and organized.

“Good. Some of these had to be scheduled far in advance, so I’m glad it’s doable for you.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s doable,” Jason said, smiling. “More like necessary.”

“Agreed.”

Jason sat up and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, noticing the awkward silence that had settled between them.

“Something on your mind, old man?”

“I’ve been thinking, and I want you to know I’m ready to listen. I’d like to know what happened that night, from you.”

Jason closed his eyes and sat back against the chair.

“This again. Alright,” he muttered. “After assignments were given, I got to that high-rise after Oracle mentioned some security footage where Joker was visible. I was blind-sided by someone as I got to the stairs inside. Someone grabbed me, injected me with something, and I blacked out.”

Bruce fought the urge to ask any of the dozen or so questions that crossed his mind, like how long Jason was unconscious or if he knew what the substance was. Instead he tried to keep it simple.

“What’s the next thing you remember?”

Jason stiffened and drew his legs into the chair, tucking them beneath the blanket.

“I… I think I remember some of what he said, but it’s a little hazy,” he stammered. “He started cracking jokes about getting another shot at me. About round two.”

He grew pale and started to shake.

“Jason, I think we should stop…”

“The whole time he was talking, he was behind me. I couldn’t see him. Or whatever it was he used to stab me,” he trailed off and covered his mouth with his hand. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and he visibly began to relax.

“After that, I don’t remember anything until I woke up in a safe house.”

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

“What’s the matter? Feeling guilty that you saw I was injured that day you dropped by, but ignored it?”

“I realized you were favoring something, but it didn’t occur to me until later you may have been hurt. And I couldn’t find you to check.”

Jason's face flushed, his cheeks turning red in anger.

“Do you know what it’s like to be hurt like that, to nearly bleed out in an alley, but have almost no recollection about how it happened?”

Before Bruce could say anything, Jason was standing, the blanket discarded on the chair behind him.

“Do you know how it feels to be scared of _everything_  ? Because when you don’t have the details, your brain just fills in the blanks with whatever it can.” He was yelling now. “Or how frustrating it is that the _one_ person who witnessed it won’t tell me what happened because it was so awful?”

Bruce froze.

“There was another person there?”

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Who else is usually around when Joker is using this city as his own personal psychotic playground?”

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“How did he get her out? She was incarcerated in Bludhaven- he wouldn’t have had time.”

Jason felt himself getting increasingly frustrated. Neither of them saw Damian standing in the hallway, about to tell them dinner was ready.

“Why don’t you ask Harley?” he spat. “She’s the only other person who was there that night who’s still capable of talking.”

“Jason, I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s nothing new.”

Jason’s face paled.

“Are you okay?”                                                                                                                           

He bolted toward the bathroom and before Bruce could follow, he kicked the door shut. Bruce sighed, realizing the stress and anxiety Jason likely felt because of the argument made him sick, much like it used to when he was younger. He knew the conversation was finished, and he turned to see Damian standing in the doorway, trying to hide how shocked he was.

"Pennyworth sent me to tell you dinner’s ready.”

Before Bruce could say anything, Damian turned and disappeared. He followed, but he glanced at the bathroom door one more time.

How did he continue to make things worse, when all he wanted to do was fix them?

* * *

Since Jason missed dinner, Alfred went to check on him. He knocked on the door to announce his presence.

“Come on in, Alfred.”

He entered in time to see Jason putting on a shirt, having just stepped out of the shower. He looked exhausted and frazzled. Alfred noticed a scar on Jason’s lean torso- one that hadn’t been there when he last treated the boy over a year ago. Jason noticed him staring and couldn’t pull his shirt down fast enough before bending over to collect his laundry.

“I can get that, Master Jason.”

“I got it. I actually have some energy right now and wanna take advantage.”  

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some help? Your father said you were ill before dinner, and that’s why you weren’t able to join us.”

Jason’s expression darkened for a moment before being replaced with an empty smile.

“I’m fine now, but thanks.”

Alfred’s nodded and smiled in return.

“I understand. May I ask about that scar on your side?” 

Jason’s face flushed red in embarrassment.  

“That, uh... I got that on patrol one night a while back.”  

Based on the stage of healing and when it likely happened, Alfred put it together and softened his gaze further.

“Did the Joker do that to you, my boy?” 

Jason’s eyes widened and he looked down at the floor, like a child caught in a lie. Like he was guilty of something. Alfred’s heart broke at the sight, how wrong it was for someone to feel guilty about something that wasn’t his fault.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Alfred nodded, holding out Jason’s laundry basket.

“As you wish, Master Jason. Are you hungry? I have something for you to eat, ready to heat up whenever you feel up to it.” 

“I think I could eat.” 

Alfred smiled and ushered Jason from the room. 

“Lead the way, my boy.” 

* * *

After dinner, Jason went to the library to read and rest before everyone went on patrol. When he checked on Jason half an hour later to find him asleep, Alfred went downstairs. Bruce, Tim, Dick and Damian were huddled around several old maps spread out on a table. Tim noticed the approach and nodded. Alfred acknowledged the gesture politely, but his gaze focused on Bruce. Dick and Damian glanced at each other before looking at Tim, who simply shrugged his shoulders and looked over at Bruce.

“Alfred,” Bruce said, without looking up from the table. Alfred stopped beside him, his hand on Bruce’s bicep so he would look him in the eye.

“Would you mind explaining to me why your son would lie about a three-inch scar on his torso?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Master Tim, I appreciate the curiosity, but I’m asking Master Bruce.”

Tim mumbled an apology as Alfred continued.

“He has a scar on his torso from what appears to have been a stab wound by a large blade. Based on the coloring of that scar, it’s recent enough it hasn’t faded and is still raised, to a degree.”

“Exactly what are you implying, Alfred?” he asked, calmly.

“I’m not implying anything, Master Bruce. I’m simply asking if you knew he was injured that night and sent him away anyway. The size and location of that wound looks like it was as close to fatal as one could get without immediate medical attention, which I _know_ Master Jason didn’t get here, as I haven’t treated him in well over a year.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?” Dick asked, bewildered, looking at Alfred, then Bruce. “Is that true, Bruce?”

Alfred glared at Dick to admonish him for the foul language before looking back at Bruce. Tim stepped forward, his voice quiet and eerily calm.

“He was injured, and you did _nothing_?”

Damian glanced at Tim, backing up a step. He never seen Tim that angry and it was a strange sight to see.

“I didn’t know he was injured, Tim. I wouldn’t have allowed him to leave had I known.”

Tim shook his head.

“So, he nearly died that night, after being attacked by the man you said he tried to kill, which makes _no_ sense, and you still blame him for what happened?”

Bruce sighed and turned, heading toward his suit where it lay draped over a chair.

“He and I talked about that already, and I’m going to follow up on a lead.”

They watched as Bruce put the suit on, seemingly ignoring them all. As he stalked to the car, Damian stepped forward.

“Father, what did Todd mean when he told you to ask Harley?” 

They all froze and looked at Damian, save for Bruce. He’d had an idea Damian heard some of that conversation and that confirmed it.

“There was someone else was there that night and Jason believes it was Harley.”

Dick shook his head.

“This is seriously screwed up. Harley Quinn, star witness for the prosecution.”

“I’m merely following protocol, Dick, like I should have at the beginning. She’s a witness and I need to talk to her.”

Everyone was speechless as Bruce got into the car.

“All of you  _will_ stay here until I get back and that’s an order. Damian, remember it’s your night off and Clark will be here shortly with Jon.”

His voice allowed no room for argument. As he drove off, Damian shook his head in disgust and turned to walk away.

“No wonder Todd hates us. Anytime he’s needed help, we’ve ignored him or pushed him away.” 

Dick and Tim turned to see Jason passing Damian as he stalked upstairs. Once he was closer, he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

“What’s wrong with the kid?”

Dick sighed and looked at Tim.

“You get this, I’ll go make sure Damian doesn’t do anything rash.”

Dick smiled tiredly at Jason as he passed. Jason turned to look at him, before looking back at Tim.

“What’s going on?”

“Bruce went to find Harley.”

Jason muttered something obscene under his breath, making Tim laugh.

“C’mon. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll fill you in. It’s cold down here.”

* * *

After two hours of scouring the city looking for Harley, Batman found her sitting on a rooftop overlooking the Gotham Knights stadium. A popular alternative band was playing a concert and she bobbed her head along with the music, singing along softly under her breath. She was dressed casually, wearing dark jeans and a navy sweater under a black peacoat, her blonde hair tucked beneath a black woolen beret.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of this group,” she said, turning to glance up at him.

“I’m not,” he answered. “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and patted the blanket spread out over the rooftop next to her.

“Have a seat, B-man.”

He sat down and studied her from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t seen her in months, and she looked different. The clown-like makeup was gone, as were her costume and mask. And apart from being involved with several environmental protests, she hadn't been up to anything remotely criminal. He had a feeling he was sitting next to someone resembling more of Harleen Quinzel instead of Harley Quinn.

“I heard your cape as you landed. And just so you know, Pammy’s watching from nearby. She caught sight of you while she was tending to some stuff at the botanical gardens. Just in case you decide to try anything stupid.”

Bruce nodded and Harley stopped swaying to the music, turning to him instead.

“Hey, how’s your kid doing? Is the chemo working?”

His eyes darted from the concert below to her face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I visited him during chemo a little while back, before Halloween. I feel bad for him- he’s been through so much already, and now cancer.” She shook her head and put her hand on his knee. “But Jay’s a fighter, you know. He’ll get through this.”

Bruce looked down at Harley’s hand, then back up to her face. She was genuinely concerned about Jason, but his mind was still three steps behind, trying to figure out how she knew Jason was his son.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice quiet. There was no strength to the denial. When she didn’t say anything, he kept talking. “Why do you care? And why did you go visit him?”

Harley returned to watching the concert, picking up on his discomfort.

“I care because I hadn’t seen him in so long. I thought he’d died after…” she trailed off, clapping as the song came to an end and another began. “I saw him at the hospital the day he checked in. I was visiting a friend.”

Bruce managed only to nod, caught off-guard at the plausibility and simplicity of her answer. This was downright unnerving.

“Why would you say he’s a fighter?” he asked. “You talk about him like you know him."

Harley shrugged.

“Well, I _do_ know him. And after what happened at that apartment building in the Diamond District last year, he was hurtin’ pretty good.”

So she _was_ there. Jason was right. And he’d _royally_ screwed up.

“The night Joker was pushed out a window?”

“Wow, you just jump right into trying to blame someone, Bats. Don’t you ever talk to your kids?”

“I have, but he doesn’t remember much. That’s why I’m here.”

Harley sighed and closed her eyes.

“He didn’t do it, B-Man.”

“What?”

“I said he didn’t do it. He was too busy tryin’ not to die.”

Bruce stiffened and Harley turned to him, her eyes widening.

“What, you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Holy crap! If this weren’t so sad, I’d be laughing right now at the freakin’ Batman failing to figure this out.”

“Harley,” he warned, his voice dropping dangerously low. Harley shook her head and stood up, jamming her hands in her coat pockets as she began pacing.

“The night Mista Jay got out, he had one goal in mind. He knew Red Hood used to be a Robin- the one he killed. He was gonna find him and kill him. It was no longer about you.” She popped her gum and continued. “He’d kept me outta the loop, so I didn’t know what he was up to until I got there.”

Bruce clenched his jaw and flexed his fists, trying to relieve some tension.

“Tell. Me. _Everything_.”

“Sure. After his lackeys got me out of Bludhaven, he tells me to get there, pronto, because he’s got something to show me. And when I got there? He’s got your kid tied to a chair, bleedin’ out from a stab wound. He must have gotten the drop on your kid. He always knew which buttons to push.”

Red spots danced across Bruce’s vision as Harley told the story and he nearly punched the concrete beneath him.

“I don’t know if it was all the time I was spending with Pammy or what, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand there and let him hurt anyone else. He didn’t even have reasons anymore, he just murdered and hurt people for fun.”

“Harley…”

“Let me finish.”

He went silent and watched her continue to pace.

“He kept saying such awful, _horrible_ things to Jason. Stuff like how this was gonna be worse than the first time. Or that he’d learned a lot while at Arkham and would make this last longer. It made me sick.”

She started playing with her hair, unable to expel her anger and nervous energy fast enough.

“The building was under construction, you know? There was stuff everywhere: tools, saws, hammers. So, I grabbed a sledge hammer and just as he was about to cut your kid’s throat, I hit him with it.”

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed _not_ to react to that knowledge.

“I wouldn’t.. I _couldn’t_ stand to see him do that to Jason again. The first time I was so messed up- I didn’t.. I didn’t _know_ , you know?” She wiped away an angry tear. “Anyway. Mister Jay was layin’ there, daring me to finish him off. He didn’t think I had it in me. He thought I was weak.” She turned back to the concert just as it was ending.

“So, when he stood up to come at me, I hit him again, square in the chest. Knocked him right out the window and into that dumpster where he shoulda stayed.”

When she turned around, she had tears in her eyes.

“When I turned back to your kid, he was gone. I tried to follow the blood trail, but I lost it in the lobby. I managed to pick it up nearby and followed it til I found him. He was nearly catatonic and dissociating by that point, to try and cope with what Mista Jay said to him. He had no idea where he was, who I was, or what was happening. All he could do was hand me some medical supplies to try and stop the bleeding, and to call somebody named Arsenal.” 

“Are you the one who helped take care of him?”

Harley looked at him and shook her head.

“I have several PhD’s, Bats, but none of ‘em required a surgical residency. No, some cute, buff redhead in a backwards hat met us in a crappy apartment in the Bowery and he took it from there.”

So that's how she learned who Jason was. Roy had likely taken Jason's helmet and mask off to try and get through to him, and Harley could have recognized him. When Bruce didn’t say anything for a moment, she sat down next to him again.

“I made that redhead promise to call me and tell me how Jason was doing. He called me the next day, saying that Jason woke up. And after that? I didn’t hear about him again until he came back to Gotham a few months ago.”

Bruce sat still, absorbing everything he’d just heard. Several minutes passed before he could speak.

“I don’t know how you found out who he was, or who I might be,” he said, “but you will not breathe a _word_ of this to anyone. Understood?”

Harley made a show of crossing her finger over her heart.

“Bats, I’ve known for almost a year and haven’t said a thing. And I won’t. Even Pammy doesn’t know. Besides,” she said, grinning mischievously, “I’m a doctor, remember? I can’t talk about patients.”

Bruce nodded and his shoulders slumped. They sat there for a little while, watching the fans leave the concert, the parking lot emptying slowly.

“Hey, B-man?”

“Yes?”

She sounded timid this time.

“I’m well aware of how you feel about killin’ people, but I have a confession to make.”

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow, despite her not being able to see it beneath the cowl.

“I tried to kill Mista Jay that night. And I’m the one who made sure he’d never wake up.”

He closed his eyes in relief. He’d heard the Joker was in a long-term care facility in Pennsylvania and last he’d checked a few months ago, he’d had a stroke and was in a permanent vegetative state.

“What’d you do, inject air into an IV line?”

She shrugged.

“Ah ah, Bats. Patient-doctor privilege, and all that.”

His mouth quirked into a small smile and he felt Harley lean into his shoulder.

“I suppose I can look the other way, since it was merely attempted murder.”

“I hoped you say that. Otherwise, I’d have to call Pammy down here to take me home.”

Bruce nodded. Harley stood up to leave and he turned to her.

“Does he know?”

“Hmm?”

“Does Jason know that Joker’s no longer a threat?”

Harley smiled proudly.

“He certainly does. It’s why I went in to see him. He deserved to know.”

She blew him a kiss and turned toward the fire escape.

“I gotta go. Take care and whatever it is with you two, work it out. It’s toxic for both of you.”

“Yes, doctor. And thank you.”

Just as she disappeared down the fire escape, Alfred’s voice was in his ear.

_“Sir, there’s a disturbance along the river near City Hall. I think it’s Croc. Shall I send Nightwing and Red Robin?”_

Bruce climbed to his feet and drew his grapple.

“Not yet, Agent A. I’ll let you know if I need them when I get there.”

_“Copy that, sir. Agent A out.”_

Armed with information to hopefully help mend things with Jason, he dove from the roof and took off toward City Hall, feeling lighter than he had in months.

* * *

Clark, Jon and Damian were finishing their fourth round of _Clue_ as Jason watched from the couch, half paying attention to a movie, when Alfred rushed into the family room.

“Master Kent, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course,” he said. “Boys, I’ll be right back. No looking at each other’s cards. Especially you, Jon.” He ruffled Jon's hair as he got up off the floor.

Out in the hallway, Clark saw Alfred was still wearing his headset.

“Something’s happened to Bruce, and while I sent Dick and Tim out about two hours ago, they can’t find him. We need your help.”

Clark nodded, removing his glasses and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

“What happened?”

“Killer Croc. Bruce said he’d report in when he arrived, but I never heard from him. I immediately radioed the boys, plus Cassandra and Stephanie. But they’ve heard nothing.”

Clark closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment before inhaling sharply.

“I need to go. I can barely hear his heartbeat. I might be on the edge of my range, but still.”

“A spare suit is downstairs, same place as always.”

Clark put a hand on Alfred’s shoulder and smiled softly.

“I’ll find him and get him back here. Don’t worry.”

Alfred nodded and when Clark disappeared down to the cave, he cleared his throat and went back into the family room.

“Boys, Clark had to run an errand for me and will be back in a little while. Is anyone hungry?”

Jon’s hand shot up and Damian rolled his eyes.

“Of course _you’re_ hungry,” he muttered, smiling ever so slightly.

“Just for that, I’m not saving you anything,” Jon replied. He stuck his tongue out for emphasis.

Jon scurried after Alfred and Damian took the opportunity to glance at Jason, who was staring at the doorway.

“Did you hear that, too?” Damian asked quietly.

“Hear what, kid?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Todd. You heard Clark say he couldn’t find Father’s heartbeat.”

Jason closed his book and winced as he sat up.

“Between the five of them, they’ll get him back here,” he said. “And we are pretty far from the city, so I’m not too surprised Clark couldn’t hear it.”

Damian looked at Jason, then at the door.

“Don’t do it, Damian. If they found out you left, they’d worry about you and that would distract them from finding your dad.”

“Fine,” Damian said. “But only because I don’t trust Kent not to eat the contents of the pantry.”

Jason smiled and stretched.

“Whatever works, squirt.”

* * *

Bruce fought his way back toward consciousness to the sound of someone retching and a toilet flushing. Before even opening his eyes, he frowned and felt worry take hold deep within his chest. If one of his kids was sick, he should be there to help.

He opened his eyes and winced at the overhead light. But before he could try to get up, the bathroom door opened, the overhead light flicked off, and Jason wandered over toward the bed. When he noticed Bruce was awake, he stopped and froze in place.

“I’ll go get Alfred,” he said quietly. “He wanted to know when you woke up so he could look you over.”

Bruce tried to shake his head, but discovered he was wearing a cervical collar and the muscles in his neck and shoulders were stiff. He tried to look down but couldn’t, so he lifted his hands to see an IV in one arm, bruises and scratches covering both, and his left middle finger was splinted.

“What happened?” he whispered. He would pay an obscene amount of money for some water at the moment.

“Croc,” Jason replied, holding out a cup with a straw. “He ambushed you before Dick and Tim could get there. You took a tail to the chest, causing the whiplash. The collar was to keep you immobile until some swelling went down and you could have an MRI.”

“Anything else?”

“Some bruised ribs, one broken finger, contusions on your face, several lacerations on your arms and chest, and probably pneumonia.” Jason leaned on the bed frame at the foot of the bed as if the conversation was wearing him out. “You shouldn’t breathe water, old man. You don’t have gills.”

“I’ll remember that,” Bruce chuckled, wincing when the laughter hurt.

“And you have Clark to thank for the sore ribs. He had to do CPR.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. He didn’t remember Clark being there at all.

“When they couldn’t find you, Dick and Tim radioed Alfred, who then called Steph and Cass. Alfred brought Clark in when that was taking too long,” he said. “But I need to go get Alfred; you’re due for more antibiotics and another IV. And I can’t do either right now.”

“Will you come back when he’s finished?”

Jason stopped halfway to the door and glanced over his shoulder.

“I can, yeah.”

“Please.”

Once Alfred checked him over, he sent Jason back in, armed with both pain killers and a sedative for when they were finished talking. Jason set the items on the bedside table and stood near the bed, arms wrapped around himself.

“What did you need?”

Bruce grabbed the cervical collar from the bed and flung it across the room, patting the bed beside him. Jason hesitated, but slowly sat on the edge of the bed, far enough from Bruce that he couldn’t touch him.

“Why were you in here looking after me, instead of resting?”

Jason stared at the heart monitor attached to the IV pole and gave a half-hearted shrug.

“Alfred was out, Dick’s in Bludhaven, Tim’s at work, and Clark took Jon and Damian to Metropolis for the weekend.” His voice quieted even further. “There’s no one left, and it’s not like I can leave the house right now, anyway.”

Bruce glanced up at the ceiling, watching the late afternoon sun crawl across the room.

“Well, thank you for doing it.”

Jason nodded, but said nothing. Bruce managed to turn his head far enough to look at him.

“Jason, I spoke to Harley that night. She told me what happened. And I am so, so sorry. For everything.”

He watched as Jason’s shoulders stiffened and he scrambled to get off the bed, heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t have the strength or the will to fight with you right now.”

Bruce shook his head, wincing with regret the moment he did it.

“Please wait, Jason. I know what happened to the Joker that night. I know what he said to you, what he did to you. How he…” he trailed off, feeling sick at the memories of what Harley told him. “How he hurt you. Again. And I’m sorry. None of that was your fault- I never should have sent you into that quadrant.”

Jason stopped in the doorway, his hand gripping the wood tightly, until his knuckles went white. Bruce took that as a positive sign and continued, his voice hoarse with disuse. He had a feeling he’d been intubated, too.

“I was wrong not to set up a crime scene. And I was sure as hell wrong to accuse you of anything. But the Joker, he.. he makes it hard to see straight sometimes, especially when it comes to you.”

Jason turned and walked back toward the bed, instead circling around it toward the empty side, the side illuminated by the sun. Bruce watched as he tried to get comfortable and saw how sick he’d become. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheekbones where sharp with weight loss. He was pale and thin, and nearly drowning in his clothes. 

“What did she say?” Jason asked. “About what happened to me, I mean.”

“I only know what happened after she got there. I have a feeling someone got you from behind with a sedative. And when you were still out of it enough not to be able to fight back, he stabbed you. Had you been coherent, I don’t think he couldn’t have gotten that close.”

Jason nodded and swallowed thickly.

“Jay, why didn’t you say anything that day I came to your place?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered at that point. Once you have your mind made up, nothing else matters,” he answered. “No one else matters.”

Bruce closed his eyes until the tears were no longer a threat. He could feel Jason looking at him.

“Do you remember anything he said to you?”

“Like what?”

“Anything at all.”

Jason’s shoulders dropped.

“No, I don’t. All I can remember is hearing Harley arguing with him, Joker coming up behind me, and then I blacked out.”

He looked at Bruce and frowned when he saw his eyes glassy with tears.

“You know what he said, don’t you?”

“Not exactly, no. Harley wouldn’t tell me anything specific, just that it was enough to force you into a kind of dissociative state. That’s why you don’t remember. What you went through was traumatic enough, you tried to protect yourself by shutting down.”

“Makes sense,” Jason whispered.

“She also said you told her to call Arsenal, and the two of them got you back to a safe house.”

Jason smiled.

“I bet that freaked the hell out of Roy,” he quipped.

“I’m sure it did.”

They sat in the relative quiet for a little while, watching the sun continue to move across the room. Jason shifted as the shadows grew, stretching his legs out and leaning back against his hands.

“Am I ever going to remember what happened? Or will I always have to rely on someone else’s version?”

Bruce adjusted the pillows behind his head, leaning forward when Jason moved to help him, carefully kneeling next to him.

“It’s hard to say. Something might trigger those memories, one day.”

“Great,” Jason muttered as he returned to his spot a few feet away. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Jason, you’ve been through so much already and look where you are. If you could cope with all of that, who says you won’t get through this the same way?”

He turned toward Bruce and rubbed the back of his neck. Bruce’s heart broke at the sight of such uncertainty in Jason’s eyes, like he didn’t think he’d be alright. He lifted the arm without the IV and patted the bed beside him.

“Come here, Jaylad.”

Jason’s stoic expression began to crumble as he crawled beside Bruce, carefully tucking himself into his side. The moment his arm settled around Jason’s shoulders, Jason began to cry.

“I’m tired of being sick,” he whispered. “And I’m tired of fighting for _everything_.” His fingers tangled themselves in the blanket over Bruce’s chest, clutching it tightly. “And I’m so tired of being scared.”

Bruce brought his hand up and pushed Jason’s hood back. Turning his head, he kissed the bare skin atop Jason’s head before resting his cheek there.

“I know you’re scared, and that’s alright. We’re all scared, too. That means we’re in it together, okay?”

He felt Jason nod, the sobs subsiding enough to let him breathe.

“Just sleep, now. We can talk more later, if you want.”

As Jason’s breathing evened out and his hand went slack over Bruce’s chest, Bruce sighed and allowed himself to drift off.

He never heard Dick come in to check on them, crawl in next to Jason and drape a blanket over them both.

He never heard Tim set himself up in a nearby chair with his laptop and a blanket, nor did he feel Damian curl up against his other side.

And none of them heard Alfred’s prayer for Jason, whispered aloud in the hallway, all the while fighting back tears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only partially sorry for some of the angst here. Some of it genuinely wasn't planned until I went back to edit.


End file.
